Our two grandfathers. Italian-American immigrants and lifelong friends who grew up together in New York’s Little Italy, back when it was still a real neighborhood.
A neighborhood alive with street vendors and stickball games (at least until your mother stuck her head out the window and called for supper).
A neighborhood where Italian grandmothers in black mourning dresses guarded their Sunday gravy recipe like a precious family heirloom.
A neighborhood where the front stoop was the scene of great debates over which baseball team had the best center fielder and the fire escape witnessed many a first kiss – including our parents.
We invite you to take a short subway ride to that time and place and spend an evening with us back in the old neighborhood.
