New-York tribune., 1922-04-02


the Romans do. If he does it as cheaply as
they do it is by ragged margin of shrcwd
ness the uncompromsing inadcquacy of his
Italian or the convincing disgust of his gesture
Usually he pays luxury tax on his explora-
tive mode Of life---fve or ten cents more for
his head of lettuce than any Italian pays
Marketing Not Done by Phone
On Rleecker Street
With compatrcts these sanguine two are
accustomed to drawn combat, relying on their
ficrccr bravado and war-tricd swiftncss Of in
vective. Their Italian at its mildcst has al
ways volcanic splutter and cultural buster;
they swear vcndcttas momentarily with sharp
nosed, thin-cawed, shril old Italian women
over handful of soup greens and swing a
bagfu Of potatoes on the scale with a round
red handfuls of tomatocs, holding out for
each quarter pound as for blood money.
Their rival Of the counter -ambuscade across
the street is Of lean and lithc-limbed trouba-
dcep-lidded, dark twinkling eyes. He must
break into sudden full-vowecd song in the
middle of any dicker or trade, or boom out a
rollicking Ncapolitan chorus while he stufrs a
caulAower or cabbage head into paper bag.
There is minstrel ight-hcartcdncss about
him--somcthing in the way he 1ourishes a
stenorlxa's choice Of a sprig of myrtle parsley
or slashes off great ruby dripping slices from
full pome egranate for a knot of lettering chill
dren waiting open -mouthcd on his brave -four
ishes. He, like many another Parnassian or
gayer-piumaged figure e-at-court rests on
stolid, less vocal worker with the hands, this
Giovanni has his Joe, who is absolutely sparing
Of motion and has reduced all decorative
speech to the economy Of mixed humble and
grunt. But he is the gardener Of the stall
who can put his hand at once, with nearly
gentle expertness, upon any herb or root or
vegetable thing that any customers outermost
caprice may requisiton. From somewhere un-
der his awning, from some sequestercd box un-
der all the other boxes, from some recess of
store interior from out of the clutter on
the cellar step, he draws it forth with an air
compounded Of simple usualness and the
merest faint hint Of forehanded pride
For no Italian of the Italians who assemble
the garnishngs of their mncstrone up and
down Bleecker Street as they go is so poor but
he uat 6n fr,p
garden-fresh mushrooms and green peas and
sprouts escarole and ~omaine and endvc. eel
cry of at least six varieties, with fern or leaf
ends, tall rhubarb and toughy green, or
white, succulent Yellow tipped punches; cauli-
flower white and sheathed, or hugely spread
and gone to seed, looking like mgnonettc;
tspcrng dandelion root and pallid parsnip and
wney beet; monstrous turnips like footballs,
ponsetta colored peppers flaming from the
green of spinach and kale fresh olives like
purple and green marbles, sleek eggplant and
fat cabbages, and onons--red onions and white
and yellow ones, and over wall and door the
conventional festoon of braided garlic Next
to this verdant rich multiplicity, whole stall
of serried oranges and lemons and apples and
the ubiquitous banana and even prckly pears
is ordinary to the eye, and strs no compar-
able creative thrill.
There are few old Italian eating places
left in and around Bleecker Street, where one
goes through red-hot savory kitchen to a
stuffy little dining room at the back, where
the waiter is still caballero and functions ur-
baney between table and stove and retains