There often is a van or truck selling fresh fish to the sounds of opera from a beaten-up cassette deck. Ice chunks and a few lost mussel and clam shells litter the sidewalk. The smells of food are all around, so it is likely you will be drawn into a place like Scialo Brothers Bakery, which is so impossibly Old World it seems as fine and brittle as a pastry cookie. The window displays are reminiscent of a wedding feast or a fancy Easter table your great-grandmother might have set. Or, you may end up at Angelo's Civita Farnese, a simple neighborhood eatery that critics ignore but is of interest as much for its atmosphere as it is for its ravioli or eggplant Parmesan.
Wine is served in juice glasses.
Your order is punched into a colored cardboard ticket that you take up to the register. The closest thing I've ever found to Angelo's was a railroad-workers cafeteria in Rome, but that didn't seem half as quirky or friendly. Providence is a city full of people who argue about restaurants, so it isn't easy to find clear consensus on where to dine. For one thing, Cianci sells his own brand of marinara sauce in supermarkets with the proceeds earmarked for the Providence school system. Even Cianci's detractors admit that it's a reasonably fresh-tasting concoction, perhaps because of the carrots and red onions the mayor tosses in for some extra zing.