Taste of Little Italy | Photos by Matthew Filipowich

A Taste of Little Italy: so easy to say that it rolls off the tongue, so enjoyable to taste that it rolls down the tongue and leaves me yearning for more. Luckily getting more is hardly a challenge as all food comes at low prices right off the cart!

With College shut off from traffic all the way from Ossington until Bathurst and with the MMVAs shutting off a chunk of Queen, all city drivers are left extremely pissed off, but I merely tie up my invisible bib, raring to chomp into some serious Italian cuisine for Toronto’s Taste of Little Italy. The festival ensures that the vast majority of restaurants have put some food a la carte for patrons to eat on the side of the road for anywhere between three and five dollars. Although some stores straddle the six-dollar mark, there are enough cheap options to keep me snacking throughout the day. The festival runs from Friday until Sunday, leaving me ample time to stop by each day to check out the eats and stuff my face as much as a waning wallet will allow.

FRIDAY

After stopping briefly for a free sample of vitamin water, I am able to weave my way successfully through the myriad of remaining midway activity on a beautiful Friday evening; amid the hustle and bustle, the promotions and the musicians, I need to focus for I am here for nothing less than a bellyful of Italian cuisine.

Emerging from the herd, I find myself in front of Vecchio Frak, a beautiful little place just east of the Mod Club with a small, upscale type dining room. Off the curb, a strategically cute lady is serving either a plateful of butternut squash ravioli or three logs of spinach and ricotta cannelloni, both served for five dollars each. Too much of a sucker for cannelloni to refuse, I order and pull up some curb to quickly maul the meal: a fantastic appetizer that only whets my appetite, which is excellent as each taste does not constitute a full meal, leaving me with room to try a few different venues each day without stuffing myself. As I walk further down the crowded street, the tendrils of sounds from many different bands reach out, including an Italian choir of sorts on Grace street that sports a slow, syrupy accordion with some older Italian vocalists, belting out some traditional Italian tunes in a rustic, brass tenor.

After standing to watch this lively orchestra, I cross the street to Marinella, hunting down some meat to supplement my vegetarian appetizer. Fortunately, Marinella turns out to be serving lamb inside an eggplant adorned with mozzarella and parmesan cheese for five dollars. I prove powerless to resist and when the server notices me writing in a notebook she passes me a free biscotti, thankful that someone is covering the festival, which I break up and split with my compatriots, regretting the decision only slightly when I discover how delectable this crumbly cookie really is.

Walking through the crowd, I am repeatedly accosted by marketing agencies and different promotions, but some are in good fun, such as the I HEART TORONTO people that give out free balloons and pins that are often worn, augmenting the already superb vibes the festival is cranking out in droves.

Saturday

Although a fairly abysmal day, overcast and raining for the majority, the rain clears up around four o’clock to allow vendors to comfortably operate the carnivals, promotions and most importantly, the food. Having tested the lamb yesterday, I cannot and do not wish to stop my feet from dragging me to Café Diplomatico to test out some lamb skewers, three sticks for four dollars!

When I ask for three the cashier unabashedly states that he thinks I need six, and to sell his point his cohort passes me three sticks hot off the grill wrapped in a napkin. I quickly spout that I do indeed need six, so quickly in fact that he gives me an extra skewer for my enthusiasm! Hot damn, I love the Diplomatico, a staple among the College street restaurants. Enjoy the festival he says as Jessica Swanlake and I pull up some curb to enjoy our treat.

The skewers are fairly thin, so while I’ve consumed a decent portion with seven, I still need some dessert. My companions on Friday had recommended I Feel Like Crepe down the street, which readily supplies Nutella crepes with my choice of banana or strawberries for five dollars. While Jessica looks at the menu, I stand with a stupid grin on my face as one of the duo makes the crepe, swirling the batter around and around with a flat edge, while the other folds the completed crepe onto another warm element, deftly adding the toppings and folding the pastry into a tantalizing triangle.

Although the crepe is extremely difficult to maneuver with a paper plate and plastic utensils on a curb, the slopfest that follows is well worth it; the warm toppings dribble down my chin, emphasizing the stupid of my grin for all to see.

Is it wrong to want to try literally ever morsel I see, waning wallet be damned?

Sunday

So I arrive once more on College street after the weather clears up to finish off a great weekend of fine Italian snacking. However, I’m with Katje who unbeknownst to me has other plans:

A panzerotti at her childhood pizzeria, Bitondo’s.

Well shit, now I have to deviate from the festival. Not my idea, but I cannot turn down a great panzo and I obviously have to tell you all about it.

Right on Clinton just south of College rests Bitondo’s, a tucked away small pizzeria that has served the neighbourhood for years upon years. Katje, to placate my concern of leaving College street, has assured me that in this small building are served rather large pockets of joy and since deep-fried joy is some of my favourite joy, I relent and walk inside to the heat of the oven and the smell of freshly made pizza.

The seating is fairly scant and the temperature makes the heat outside laughable, but I immediately gravitate to the ancient Ms. PacMan game available for only twenty-five cents a play! Oh, so many childhood memories come flooding back to me, but unfortunately I am starving and quarterless at the moment, but I will be back to take on that top score, count on it. So we all order and wait about ten minutes until served up a slab of dough, cheese and tomato sauce, made in house, fresh as can be. Alright, I am sufficiently impressed, but everyone agrees that we need to head back to College to avoid the risk of heatstroke from the ovens and away we go.

However, I underestimate the girth of the panzo that fills me up more than the mere tastes that I’ve become accustomed to, so with only a few dollars jangling in my pocket I walk down to Euclid to find that the main midway has parked itself here, including carnival games and a celebrity photo booth complete with cardboard cutouts of Obama and a particularly dazzling gold-suited Elvis. Yet what captures my attention most of all is the gambling game Crown and Anchor that my father allowed me to bet illegally for him in my youth, so to honour my father on his assigned day I toss down a few dollars to try and raise money for one last snack, but alas, my last three dollars are quickly drained and I head for home, fully satisfied with all the tastes I’ve received during this glorious weekend rife with the snacks of Italy.

A Taste of Little Italy has been one hell of a festial that truly outlines the hard work of the talented cooks along the College stretch, extending patios and accentuating the excellent dining rooms, yet I still find it infinitely more appealing to grab a bite and hunker down on a curb to snap up my meal before moving on with the neverending throng of people walking down the street in the failing light, enjoying not only the food but the atmosphere of a beautiful street in Toronto usually cut off by the streetcar and automobile traffic.

I bid the fondest of farewells to a festival that not only opens up the street for a superb sampling of all the kitchens, but an event that allows the people to reclaim the road for themselves, for there were nothing but excellent vibrations from the musicians, from the restaurants and from the people simply enjoying a casual stroll along College for as much Italian cuisine as anyone could handle. I can only wait impatiently for a Taste of the Danforth, a similar festival for the Greeks happening early August from the seventh until the ninth. If you missed Taste of Little Italy, make the extra effort to pop over to the east end for a feed that you won’t easily forget.