My wife and I visited Cleveland over the weekend and ate at a small restaurant in Little Italy. When I first heard Cleveland had a Little Italy, I figured it was a strip mall with a couple chain Italian restaurants sandwiched around a Starbucks and a Cell Phones ‘R Us. To my surprise it was several blocks of very authentic eateries and bakeries nestled in a tiny older neighborhood. There was the smell of home cooking (if home is Italy) in the air and they carried the authenticity right down to the double-parked streets and vendors selling their wares outside the main establishments. Of course, I was a little concerned when I passed by one shop selling “The Sopranos” posters at the entry to an alley with a sign reading, “To See More Wares, Please Come This Way” and an arrow pointing down the dark recesses of the alley. I passed on the opportunity to find out how truly authentic Little Italy really was.
After eating at one of the less crowded places, as we were waiting for the bill, a rather burly dark-haired, dark-skinned, darkly dressed man started lurking around the tables near to us. He pulled a large dark case from the shadows under a table. I was about to yell “Duck!”, or is that “La Duck!”, when he unsnapped the case and pulled out an accordion and started playing.
He looked much less ominous after I reappeared out from under the table.