I’ve always wanted to visit the “real” Little Italy on Arthur Avenue up in the Bronx, and since my Italian-Canadian friend was here visiting (not to mention that Ethikus really values urban exploration) I thought, this would be a great time to go! Adam was the perfect person to help me navigate the cheese, various sausaged meats, and stuffed noodles as almost nothing was marked in the language I know best.
Then I apparently asked the wrong question… “uhhh, like, is this organic?” (cue the screetching wheels). Apparently asking if a sausage is organic (whose origin and preparation trace back half a millennium and half-way across the globe), is a huge insult. And then the ridiculousness of my question set in. Yes, organic did exist before the tiny green labels. Some of us pickier New Yorkers, who boastfully bend over backwards to ensure that every morsel that hits our mouth is strictly organic certified, easily begin to forget what it means. Organic isn’t something that’s done to food, it’s something that hasn’t been done. In treating our urban diets to a rigorous organic regimen, we can loose sight of the simplicity that all these certifications, stickers and labels imply. So is that last heirloom tomato dangling off my fire escape just as organic as the green-ly packaged pimentos I just bought at Fairway, and just as organic as Mr. Esposito’s sausage?