Luh-la luh-la luh-la luh-la-la! When I was in my 20's, a housemate I rented from used to sing this bit of cheery Italian schmaltz (by way of an old spaghetti commercial) whenever she'd make spaghetti sauce. She was such a joy to live with! I'd just come from living with a housemate who was so controlling she pretty much confined anything belonging to me to my bedroom. The song still occasionally pops into my head when I make spaghetti sauce at home, and it did again when D and I wandered into the Fisherman's Feast (in honor of the Madonna Del Soccorso Di Sciacca) in Boston's North End on Sunday. The smell of garlic and Italian sausage filled the air around stalls of Sicillian food and kitschy Italian good luck charms. The North End, Boston's Little Italy, has saint's feasts all summer but was the first one we'd been to this year, and thankfully it was mercifully cool out -- we'd been in past years on stifling hot days while jostling through the crowds. But hot or cool, there's always something a little Moonstruck joyfully over the top about the whole thing.
Although there was plenty of Italian street food to be had, we'd just eaten in an Italian restaurant the night before. So I let my camera do all the eating, then we went to the nearby waterfront for some basic New England fish dinners.
More photos from the Fisherman's Feast here. Divertiti!