Arthur Avenue, the Bronx

This was a walking tour of Arthur Avenue, which I was told is the most authentic Little Italy in NYC. The Little Whatever- Ethnic- Neighborhoods tend to morph according to waves of immigration. I used a car service, which was bit expensive, but it might have taken all Saturday to get to the Bronx from mid-Manhattan via subway. A taxi would be as expensive, plus less reliable to count on when I was ready to go back. I hate all city buses, everywhere. Since I had played my own little game all week of trying to use the subway as much as possible(particularly relevant in rainy weather, as my week was, as taxis become less available, and lots of times the subway is faster anyway, and dirt cheap), and since I had successfully avoided getting into a taxi the whole time, I won! I won a driver and a limousine!
I was dropped off at the Arthur Avenue Market. The Essex Street Market was created about one hundred years ago to get some of the pushcarts off the street in th Lower East Side. I'm not sure about Arthur Avenue. But it too was lots of vendors selling only Italian groceries under one roof. I got there a bit early for the tour, so I got to walk around ahead of time.
Right up front was a purveyor of cigars. I guess that isn't necessarily Italian, what with a few Central Americans there rolling. High on the Authentic Scale, though. I had a loud and animated, but friendly conversation with that guy, and he sold me a couple of cigars for Jim.
The rest of the market was mostly all kinds of meats. All kinds of livestock, all kinds of organ meats and offal. Not appealing to me, but I can appreciate it. I overheard people talking to each other about it, "My father loved that, he would make it..." The butchers were working very hard because the next weekend was Easter. Everyone was there for their Easter menu needs. There was an extra-animated feeling in there that day, even more so than normal Bronx, WHICH IS LOUD. The new Yankee Stadium, in the Bronx, was approaching opening day. The way everyone was talking about it, I'd go to a game just to eat. There was much Italian being spoken. Loudly.
We went to a pork shop. That place's ceiling was barely visible because all the salamis drying. That place had a divine "cured" smell. One place had some baked goods, but everyone went there for the fresh pasta, made while you watch. I bought some in sheets, so I could do what I wanted with it when I got it home. In another place we watched fresh mozzarella being made right in front of us, then tasting.
We had a lunch of assorted cold sandwiches and antipasti, and dessert of ricotta cake and cannolis.
I called my driver and waited for him on the sidewalk. I was a happy tourist. I noticed lots of double-parked Jaguars and Benzes. I doubt that those folks lived anywhere close. But they knew where they had to go for their Easter groceries.