On the next corner, a man had his market set up with fresh fruits and vegetables, speaking with a small group of people in what sounded to me like the Arabic language. Mother Nature’s vibrant reds, yellows, blues, oranges, and greens filled his stand while passersby stopped, shopped, exchanged a few formalities, then kept it moving.

It was a busy Friday afternoon on the streets of Harlem, as people walked by in both directions, speaking any number of different languages. The streets were alive with music, talking, laughing, cars racing by, cyclists yelling to move to the side – and did I mention the smells of food pouring out of street trucks and nearby restaurants? Ah, I was in my glory.

An Italian Love Affair

At Lella Alimenti

On Saturday late morning, I made my way on the subway to Brooklyn to meet a friend of mine. It was freezing cold and pouring rain. It took me three transfers to find Rachael but that is all part of the New York adventure, and I love it. We met at a very charming Italian café on Manhattan Avenue called, Lella Alimenti. The café was packed and the noise was that perfect buzzing sound that lets your senses know you are right at home. Rachael told me that this was an authentic Italian café and that I would love the food – and naturally, I did.

Within an hour, my three daughters joined us as well, and it just made the experience that much more enjoyable. I also happened to notice that the young gentleman who served us not only supported a strong Italian accent but man, was he a looker! You know, that kind of adorable expression with puppy dog eyes, coupled with a beyond charming personality. He was the kind of person who again, looks directly at the person with whom he is engaging, and he does so with an authentic smile on his face. Needless to say, I was so charmed by this young man that I had to speak Italian to him when we left.

No. I don’t speak Italian. My father’s father was from Sicily and he spoke Italian. Two of my father’s sisters speak Italian as well. When I was a very little girl, I too wanted to follow my Italian roots so I went to Italian school on the weekends, but I quit much too soon. I was quite young and impressionable, and all the other kids came from Italian speaking homes. So, when I tried to speak and use what little vocabulary I had learned, they would giggle. Not out of spite, but just because I was placing emphasis on the wrong syllables. Italian words are awfully multi-syllabic so I’m sure it sounded quite funny to them. Anyway, after this happened repeatedly, I felt discouraged as though I just wouldn’t be able conquer it, and I gave up. Pity. It’s such a beautiful language and part of my family history. I guess it’s never too late though.

Back to the handsome Italian man in the café. We cleared off our breakfast plates, and started to make our way toward the exit. I couldn’t help myself. I fully believe that if you have something kind to say to someone, you should say it. Sometimes a person really needs a compliment, so why would you hold back? So, I sauntered up to the counter, mustered up the courage, leaned over so he could hear me, and said:

“Grazie, Signore. Sei molto bello. Addio!”

And with a genuine smile, he responded with the sweetest,

“Prego, addio!”