The leaves haven’t quite gone golden red. Temperatures are making a reluctant retreat out of the eighties, kicking and screaming all the while. Occasionally, all of this ruckus actually stirs up a breeze. Labor Day has come and gone. While some recognize Labor Day as a well manicured usher, escorting Summer, by her elbow to the door, it means bubkis to me. Like any true blue New Yorker foodie, I know that summer is over when the Feast of San Gennaro ends, and not a minute before.
Every September for the last eighty-four years, New Yorkers have converged on the neighborhood of Little Italy for the San Gennaro Festival, which celebrates the Patron Saint of Naples. Although this event is steeped in religious tradition, it is enjoyed by people from all walks of life. For eleven days every September, we are all just a little bit Italian.
This festival is the closest that New York City will ever come to a county or state fair, boasting a bevy of music, games and activities. The piece de resistance however, is the food. We are talking a gluttonous paradise, folks! I attended the festival on the first weekend of its opening. I grew up frequenting Little Italy, so as I walked up Canal Street, I knew full well what to expect. Yet, as I turned onto Mulberry Street, I was overwhelmed by, well, everything.
Throngs of people were entering and exiting the fair by way of Mulberry Street’s significantly narrow opening, so getting in proved to be quite the obstacle course. Well, let me tell you, once I reached the inner sanctum, it was worth every elbow I had to throw, to get there.
I can only describe the experience that ensued as an assault on the senses. The street was alive with vivid chatter. Each stand was brightly decorated to display their wares. The air was filled with the aromas of grilling meats and vegetables. The standard fare of sausage, peppers and onions was being served up everywhere you looked. There were actually rows of vendors right next to each other, serving the same foods, and all were doing very good business. Alongside other cuts of pork, beef and veal, were mountains of grilled corn. Golden kernels scorched with black flecks whispered crackling sweetness through plumes of smoke.
Forget whatever you think you know about meditation and higher states of consciousness. Carnivore nirvana is achieved here. Imagine, you’ve been searching for peace and enlightenment your whole life, and there it is, wrapped up in a sausage and pepper hero. Okay….maybe it’s not so much nirvana, as it is a meat induced coma, but let’s not split hairs.
Forget whatever you think you know about meditation and higher states of consciousness. Carnivore nirvana is achieved here. Imagine, you’ve been searching for peace and enlightenment your whole life, and there it is, wrapped up in a sausage and pepper hero. Okay….maybe it’s not so much nirvana, as it is a meat induced coma, but let’s not split hairs.
Not to be outdone, the desserts vied for center stage. The sweets here are so decadent, they border on pornographic. The cannolis are long tubular fried pastry shells, oozing ricotta based vanilla, strawberry and chocolate creams. Take your pick. My personal favorites are the zeppoles. They are the Italian equivalent of French beignets.
Yummy, fluffy yeast dough, fried to golden perfection. Just when you think you’ve maxed out your Weight Watchers points, that same dough is writhing naked in a cloud of powdered sugar…in front of the kids, and everything!
Yummy, fluffy yeast dough, fried to golden perfection. Just when you think you’ve maxed out your Weight Watchers points, that same dough is writhing naked in a cloud of powdered sugar…in front of the kids, and everything!
There was even the occasional appearance by the funnel cake. Now, I’ve never met a carbohydrate or a saturated fat that I didn’t like, but even I have my limits. I draw the line at fried Oreos. I mean, really? There’s not enough going on in a shortening based cream filled, chocolate sandwich cookie. I know…let’s dip it in batter and deep fry it! I can feel an artery closing up just thinking about it. I’m no health guru by any stretch of the imagination, but everything in moderation, you know?
As much fun as this annual shin dig is, one can only be amused by consecutive city blocks of meat and carbs, for so long before it becomes redundant. I made the rounds and saw the sights. I grabbed a few heroes and a half dozen zeppoles to share with family, and elbowed my way back to Canal Street. The crowd, though massive, wasn’t unmanageable. I’m sure that had something to do with the heavy police presence on hand. Never has that sea of blue been such a beautiful sight.
So, how was the food, you ask? It met all the requirements of meat-laden, greasy and sugary bliss. Just the fix my palate needed. My cravings are sated until this time next year. Sunday, September 26th, marked the end of the festival. Grab your jackets. Fall is officially here.
