Feast of San Gennaro

New York loves a parade and a festival. Maybe it's our version of the small county fair. As the dad of a little girl, it's a cool way to teach her about other cultures - and since my wife is Italian anyway, a trip down to Little Italy for the Feast of San Gennaro is a must.

I took my daughter down there on Saturday and met up with my father-in-law. The weather was perfect, and we got there early enough to miss a lot of the crowd. Yesterday, my wife was off work, so the three of us went. Two days of cannoli and sausages with peppers and onions! Mamma mia!

At one point on Saturday, we looked up and saw the Empire State Building standing above the city. My father-in-law almost got choked up. The man loves his Italian heritage and he loves NYC. He spoils my daughter--like I don't. We stopped off for a cannoli, and of course he had to share the cannoli cream with her. We were just about finished, so I popped into the men's room. By the time I got back, there was a cream puff on the table.

My wife and I are also both fans of The Godfather series of movies. On Mulberry Street, right in the heart of the festival, stands Old St. Patrick's Cathedral. The church served as the scene of the baptism Michael Corleone participated in while he was having his enemies assassinated near the end of The Godfather. Luckily, no one made us an offer we couldn't refuse. (Although, I could go for another one of those sausages.)

All around but never there before

This morning, I had occasion to come out of the subway at Herald Square.  I needed to be over on 32nd & 1st Avenue.  With morning traffic, I thought I'd get there just as quickly by walking than by catching a cab or bus.  I've walked east on 34th Street several times, but today I walked on 32nd St.

For a couple of blocks from 6th Ave to Madison on 32nd is a small Korean community.  I'd been so close to this but hadn't seen it.  I spotted a couple of restaurants that deserve some more attention.  It could be a nice weekend stroll with my wife and daughter.

I appreciate some of the ethnic enclaves here in NYC.  Back in 2005, before I had relocated here, I spent a long weekend here.  On the Monday before I had to go to the airport, I started at Battery Park and walked north.  On the way, I ventured through Chinatown and ended up on a street that was hardly bigger than an alley.  All the windows of the businesses there had Chinese words.  The newspapers were written in Chinese.  The people spoke Chinese.  I was the only caucasian there.  And then, just steps away, I was in Little Italy.  Today, it was Korea.  Tomorrow, it might be Ghana.