Moe Albanese is the last butcher standing in New York’s Little Italy. His father, Vincenzo, was a butcher from Polizzi Generosa, in Sicily. Moe’s mother, Mary, also of Sicilian descent, could speak some English.
“My father said to her, ‘You ask the customers what they want and I’ll cut the meat’,” says Moe, who was delivered by midwives at a home birth on this same block in 1925 and has never left the area.
Albanese Meats & Poultry on Elizabeth St is a relic of New York. It is now being crowded out by snappy boutiques and, just to the south, by Chinatown.
It is the story of America. When the Italians arrived in this area, they displaced the Irish.
“We moved into their church,” says Moe, referring to the Italian takeover over St Patrick’s Cathedral, just around the corner, which in its vaults contains the tombs of many an early New York bishop.
And then the Italians, as it goes in this ever-revolving immigrant nation, got pushed out by the cost of living and the changing imperatives of the streets.
A few blocks away is Broadway, the femoral artery of Manhattan. “In the old days, it was all clothing factories along Broadway,” Moe says, who has that old-time New Yorker way of twisting down on the sound of each word before it leaves his mouth.
There were none of the big name shops, which every contemporary visitor is compelled to visit on first arriving in New York. It was a working district and, on Elizabeth St, Moe’s father and mother were one of six or seven butcher shops, feeding the large Italian settlement.
Moe’s dad died young and he and his younger brother, Vincent, were taught the art of butchering by their mother, who died at the age of 97 in 2002.
“Butchering’s changed,” says Moe, at the age of 87. “Today you have box meat. We used to skin calves here, bring in hinds. Today, our only hanging meat is the rib. But we don’t pre-cut anything.”
The difference between Moe’s shop and most other butchers across New York is that even though they don’t carve up whole animals, they cut sections and mince meat to order, before your eyes. There are no vacuum-sealed packets. There’s no need to examine the fine print for additives.
Where Moe lives, in the heart of young, fast-moving, fashion-centric New York, you’d think the locals would all know how to knock up the fast, good dinners that mass-saturation food preachers Jamie Oliver and Gordon Ramsay (“Easy. Simple. Done”) are always banging on about.
But it’s all television. The reality is that buying a steak, and turning it on a grill, is a reality too far.
“It was good when you had Europeans living here, but these young kids don’t cook and they don’t know how to cook,” Moe says, recalling the time when every Italian family ate home-cooked around the table.
“I gotta explain to them that this is an old-fashioned meat market.”
He says he doesn’t resent the young people moving in on his world. They didn’t change it. His own people did, by moving away.
Moe remembers when Elizabeth St would close down as the various Italian clans celebrated their patron saint days with parades.
For the Albanese family, of mountainous Polizzi Generosa, in the Sicilian province of Palermo, their patron was the Franciscan priest, Saint Gandolfo, who in his time was a devout avoider of fame who was nevertheless sought out as a miracle healer.
Moe and Vincent went to Polizzi Generosa five years ago. Their first ever visit to the fabled homeland.
“We went there and they said, ‘Who are you looking for?’ We said, ‘Our father’s name was Albanese.’ They said, ‘Three quarters of the town is named Albanese.’”
Told there is an Australian politician with the name Albanese, and asked what traits this possible long-lost relative should exemplify as bearer of his name, Moe says: “Be honest. And it’s all about families.”
tooheyp@newsltd.com.au
Paul’s columns are published exclusively in News Ltd iPad applications on Saturdays.
Facebook Recommendations
Read all about it
Punch live
Up to the minute Twitter chatter
RT @gregprichard: The Victorian Sports Minister has just sent the New Zealand Prime Minister a commiserative email. #stateoforigin
@VanillathunderV fair comeback. But seriously, if that was a try then I'll book my skiing in Queensland this year
@BrettS69 the loveliest thing about post-origin is the sledges from gloating qlders #ratherbeagoodloserthanapoorwinner
That is the video referee howler to end all howlers to end all howlers to end all howlers to end all howlers #stateoforigin
Recent posts
The latest and greatest
If you want to get promoted, laugh at the boss’s jokes
Red alert, ladies. Making jokes about your ability at work is not funny particularly at board level.…
Need someone to do your dirty work? Try God.
Punishing the baddies is only fun in the movies. In real life it’s messy, expensive, and fraught…
Gina Rinehart’s the least interesting thing on this list
BRW’s Rich 200 list is out for another year and Gina Rinehart, Frank Lowy and Anthony Pratt have…
Nosebleed Section
choice ringside rantings
From: They must pay for one’s bitter disappointments
Michael S says:
"A teacher at Geelong Grammar had criticised her for using words that were too long, which had left her confused and had made her doubt her ability to write essays. She became ''quite distressed'' when her English marks began to fall." I can sympathise. My scholastic mentors conveyed to me a causal relationship… [read more]From: Welfare for breeders is a bonus for everyone
Change Up! says:
I have no problem paying my taxes. As a single, childless person on a very decent income, I can afford it and not have my life severely altered. Plus I understand that my taxes paying for things like schools, childcare and infrastructure is ultimately a good thing. A better community is better for me… [read more]Gentle jabs to the ribs
They must pay for one’s bitter disappointments
A private school girl’s family is sueing her elite, extremely expensive private school for not… Read more
Most commented