If you told me to imagine myself traversing just two or three streets for over five hours, I would say I couldn’t fathom the idea. Then again, if you mentioned I would be encountering two pastry shops, a store specializing in fresh mozzarella, a pork shop, a bread bakery, a multi-stall food market, an imported coffee store, a greengrocer, two fishmongers, a deli and an amazing restaurant, I’d become mighty itchy to get going. 

I had only been once to the small Italian enclave known as the Belmont section of the Bronx. The appeal there is Arthur Avenue, where all the above-mentioned shops are located, as well as on nearby 187th Street. On that first occasion I’d gone with a couple of visiting Englishmen who had no interest whatsoever in the food scene. They seemed to think they’d find interesting-looking wise guys in the Bronx.

Some years later, my sister Janet and I planned an itinerary to explore this area where generations of Italian families—many from Calabria—settled, forming a close-knit neighborhood with a cozy, small-town character unique for an urban setting. We drove to Belmont, parked, and headed to Artuso’s Pastry, opened in 1946 (at 670 East 187th St.), hoping for a cup of espresso to start the day. There were no chairs for lingering, but we gaped at the neatly lined trays of beautifully executed biscotti, macaroons, rum baba and the large assortment of colorfully decorated cookies. Joey, one of a pair of brothers who are fourth-generation owners, bounded out from a back room to assist us. “Lemme treat you to a cannoli!” he insisted, handing us each a crisp miniature cigar-shaped log filled with sweet cream and studded with a few tiny chocolate chips. 

We bought a bag of crunchy fennel-seed taralli, which are a tear-shaped cracker-like snack made with unleavened flour dough, salt, extra-virgin olive oil and white wine. Joey walked us outside his shop and, with a wave of his hand, directed us to the landmark Arthur Avenue Retail Market where he suggested we sip an espresso, available at Mike’s Café, across from Mike’s Deli, in the midst of the bustling market. “God bless, girls!” he called as we made our way up the street. 

Mike’s had an amazing selection of cold cuts, olives, salads, cheese and stuffed breads—miniature loaves dusted with poppy seeds and filled with chicken, mozzarella and broccoli rabe, and eggplant or chicken parmesan. Mike’s son David had continued the tradition of fine foods begun by his father in the 1950s. After drinking the perfectly executed espressos, we sampled cured meats straight from David’s hand. His natural graciousness and generosity mirrored Joey’s at the bakery. We left after stocking up on stuffed breads.

At the marketplace, we passed stalls with exciting inventories: one where handmade cigars were being rolled, Peter’s Meat Market (where quail was a special of the day), and others carrying produce, Italian delicacies and housewares. It was difficult to tear ourselves away and return to the street. Across the avenue was a fish market and outside was a stand serving freshly chucked, ice-cold clams on the half shell. I pined for them, but it was a cold day so I reluctantly walked away.

We entered the musky-smelling Calabria Pork Store (9338 Arthur Ave.) where hundreds of dried, aged sausages of every size and variety hung from the ceiling. Thin and thick fresh sausages were sold from behind glass counters, as well as sliced pancetta, salami and prosciutto di Parma. This is where I had found a half-dozen firemen milling about the store on my first visit. They had been waiting patiently to order sausage for their lunch that day and I sensed that they would know where we should dine. “Not touristy. Where locals eat,” I specified. “Dominick’s” (2335 Arthur Ave.) they said in unison. One guy stepped toward me and explained, “There’s no menu and only communal tables where everybody sits together. The waiter’s been there about a hundred years. He’ll take care of youse.”

A fellow fireman added, “It’s the best in da Bronx.” 

Janet and I headed across the street to Dominick’s. The ancient waiter came over to us and put a hand lightly on my shoulder. “How about I give you a big salad, an antipasti, first,” he suggested. Janet and I nodded enthusiastically. Soon a huge platter was placed between us. It was piled high with lettuce, arugula, radicchio, roasted peppers, olives, slice dried sausage and salami, and two kinds of cheese. It was perfectly dressed. 

“What else are you in the mood for?” our genial waiter asked. We were already so full we could’ve skipped entrees but decided to share one. We heard about bowls of linguini with shrimp and calamari, steamed stuffed artichokes, roast veal or pork, flounder or red snapper, and on and on. We finally decided on a chicken dish, of which there were many. It was unusual and delicious. We topped off the meal with espressos as we sat back in our chairs, more than sated. 

“How ‘bout some Sambuca with those?” the bartender at the tiny bar in the entrance to the restaurant shouted over to us. “Why not?” Janet piped up, and an entire bottle of that sweet, anise flavored liqueur was set in front of us.

On the way back to our car we passed Cerini Coffee and Gifts (2334 Arthur Ave.); the bread bakery Madonia Brothers (2348 Arthur Ave.), the crusty bread from which we’d eaten with our meal at Dominick’s; and Casa Della Mozzarella Deli (604 East 187th St.), where the line snaked out the front door. “Next time,” Janet and I said simultaneously. 

We talked about our Italian odyssey the entire way home, knowing we would return one day.