La scrittrice racconta le ragioni per cui ha un grande amore per la Piccola Italia di Cleveland. Si ricorda di quando era più giovane e andava nei diversi posti, che ancora esistono, e le giornate trascorse con sua madre prima che morisse, ne descrive prima una, che secondo sua madre, era la giornata perfetta. Successivamente, descrive una giornata trascorsa con sua figlia e le loro famiglie prima che sua figlia si sposasse e racconta che è stata un'altra giornata perfetta. La scrittrice racconta queste storie perché per lei la Piccola Italia simboleggia il sentimento di casa, di famiglia e i bellissimi ricordi che aveva con la sua famiglia.
Why do I love Cleveland’s Little Italy? The reasons sometimes go deeper than the big annual events, as traditional and fun as they are.
The year 2023 marked three decades of spending time with family and friends in this unique and historic Cleveland neighborhood. I discovered it soon after moving to Westlake in the early ‘90s. Yes, that makes me a west-sider (wink). More about that later.
My intro to Little Italy began when my then-little girl and I attended Mass at Holy Rosary Church with its magnificent Baroque-Revival façade and equally stunning interior. Maria may have been too young to follow the homily but was always enthralled by the stained glass, the music, and the maroon and gold depictions of Renaissance angels above. Father Philip Racco was in residence at that time; this past September he did the Mass of Christian Burial for a close friend at his current parish out in Westlake. It felt like one of life’s full-circle moments as I sat in the pew next to my daughter.
In 1993, treats after Mass were always in order. Who remembers the original Presti’s? This was when the menu was as tiny as the shop (maybe a quarter of the size of the current bakery and café). Before heading home, we would enjoy the swing set at Tony Brush Park, rededicated that same year in honor of resident and champion boxer Anthony Brescia.
Fast-forward 14 years and many cookies and birthdays and Feasts of the Assumption later.
Maria’s senior pictures were taken by a photographer whose studio was in the current Moonstruck CLE, a family-favorite gift shop. Her babysitter for the day had bailed so her adorable five-year-old stayed with me while our little group wandered the neighborhood for three solid hours. You can imagine the backdrops – numerous murals, Holy Rosary, ivy crawling over wrought iron, colorful storefronts, and a much smaller former church on the red brick Murray Hill Road now housing Urban Orchid, arguably the world’s prettiest floral boutique.
Lunch beforehand at La Dolce Vita kept us deliciously fueled for picture day, with La Barberia somehow having an opening at exactly the right time for Maria to get a full color and cut – which she’d decided just the day before that she desperately needed – before the photo session began. My favorite memory of that sunny day is of walking hand-in-hand with another small girl as my beautiful daughter, now nearly an adult, walked confidently ahead and interacted with the photographer block by block.
A few years later saw the last great outing with my mother. She had moved to Ohio to live with us due to a health issue, but it didn’t stop us from visiting the neighborhood. This experience happened on the second Monday of October, Columbus Day. It was a brilliantly sunny yet somewhat chilly afternoon. As I drove around looking for a place to park, I noticed a spot on the side street next to Murray Hill Market with a stern “Ten Minutes Only” parking sign next to it. Hoping for 15, I hurried into the shop and asked the owner if we could have a few extra minutes, just enough time to walk a short distance up the hill and see the parade pass by.
I still get a little choked up remembering his response. Looking out the window and seeing my mom in the passenger seat, he smiled and declared, “You ladies have the spot for the rest of the day! No hurrying is necessary. Enjoy the parade!”
And so, we did, stopping back a while later at his store in front of which he was cooking up large vats of food for the parade-goers. We sat at one of two sidewalk tables, enjoying stories of his chef days as well as steaming bowls of soup and kindness.
Eventually, it was time to head down the hill to La Dolce Vita for dessert. LDV is always buzzing with happy energy and this day was no exception. As we waited for our server to bring hot drinks, another guest was walking past our table. I asked her if she knew where we could get some pizzelle. “Be right back!” she replied, returning with a large tin, and gifting us a huge handful from her private stash.
As we wound our way out of the neighborhood toward home, I asked my mom if she’d enjoyed herself. “It was just…a perfect day.”
My mother passed away a year later. It was two days after my birthday and two days before Thanksgiving. When Terry Tarantino heard the news, he invited Maria and me to the annual Christmas Eve feast for family and friends at his restaurant. We got to sit with his sisters…one of whom I recognized as the woman who had generously shared her homemade pizzelle.
Pretty sure my mother had a hand in that seating arrangement. Thanks, Mom. With additional thanks to neighborhood resident Heidi Fatica for her comforting and uplifting expression of sympathy.
Our next family outing was a joyful one when my daughter and her soon-to-be husband had their rehearsal dinner at La Dolce Vita. Several years later attendees are still commenting on the fresh, delicious food paired with Italian wines, and just as importantly, how much fun the staff made the event for everyone.
I even have a happy pandemic story, or rather, one from the autumn right before it began. I attended a service at Holy Rosary one morning in early November. After the recessional, the lady seated in front of me introduced herself as Mary and proceeded to ask me about myself. Did I live in the neighborhood? Did I know her friends with whom she’d attended Mass? Had I met Father yet? It was enough to make me feel most welcome, but then this lovely lady outdid herself.
“I live in the only yellow house on X street. Anytime you’re back in the neighborhood, stop by and I’ll make us espresso.”
When people ask why I’m so drawn to this neighborhood, the answer is simple. I’ve lived on both the east side and the west, but it’s in Little Italy – the heart of Cleveland – that I always feel the warmth of home. God willing, there will be many more visits…and creating memories with the family’s new little girl.
May this new year be filled with health, happiness, and peace of mind for La Gazzetta readers and all who continue pouring their hearts and energies into the neighborhood’s wonderful restaurants, galleries, and shops. It wouldn’t be the same without you.
