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| Mezza Luna Pizza, Shaped for The Pizza Lovers' Heart! |
Arthur Avenue: A Bronx Feast Hidden in Plain Sight(ish)
Like most New Yorkers, I talk a big game about “exploring the city” and then spend 90 percent of my life within three blocks of my apartment and a bodega that knows my snack order. So when an invite hit my inbox for a press food crawl on Arthur Avenue in the Bronx, I did what any food-motivated New Yorker would do: I checked how many trains were involved, sighed dramatically, and then immediately said yes.
A few days later, I was standing in Bronx Little Italy, staring at a block that smelled like garlic, sugar, and my next bad financial decision.
Belmont Business Improvement District (BID)
According to a guide from Arthur Avenue Food Tours, the Wikipedia entry on the neighborhood is “a lie, it’s fiction,” and honestly, I believe her. She knows every storefront, every family, every business beef going back decades. If there’s a version of the truth that matters here, it’s bubbling in red sauce, hanging in ropes of sausage, and cooling in pastry cases—not sitting on some crowdsourced page.
And so, we ate.
First Stop: Caffeine and Albanian Carbs
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| Noya Café, |
We kicked off at Noya Café, one of the newer kids on the block, which already feels like it has been there since the dawn of espresso. It’s Albanian-owned, pours Lavazza, and has that dangerous “I’ll just get a coffee” vibe that ends with you ordering half the menu.
Exhibit A: Petulla. Think doughnut meets fry bread, but make it Balkan and addictive. Then there’s Bakllavë, tiramisu, pizza, cannoli, and a Qebap burger that basically dares you to pretend you’re “just having a snack.” The café is where Italian and Albanian carb culture hold hands and laugh at your jeans.
Cigars, Cinema, and “Wait, This Is the Bronx?”
Next up: the Arthur Avenue Retail Market and La Casa Grande Cigars, which looks like someone built a 1970s movie set and forgot to take it down. Wood, posters, smoke, and the kind of lighting that makes everyone look like they’re about to reveal a secret.
We watched cigar-rolling masters at work, hands moving so fast and smooth it felt like a magic trick. Then they handed us tobacco and basically said, “Good luck.” I rolled something that looked like it had been through several wars. They were very polite about it.
If you need a Valentine’s Day idea that isn’t “we went to the same restaurant as last year and pretended it was special,” this is it. You’re literally learning a lost art from Dominican elders who’ve been rolling cigars here for nearly 30 years. It’s intimate, old-school, and smells better than half the perfume counters in midtown.
Pizza, But Make It Heart-Shaped
No one goes to Arthur Avenue and skips pizza. If they do, their opinions are invalid forever.
We hit Mezza Luna Pizza, one of the neighborhood favorites and home of the heart-shaped pie. Yes, it’s cute. No, it’s not just for Instagram. This is where dough has actual history—about 50 years of it.
Owner Joe Lopresti has been running the place, formerly Full Moon Pizza, since 2023, and you can tell he cares more about the crust than your feelings. The heart shape is fun, but the dough is the flex: chewy, crisp, and sturdy enough to hold up under an irresponsible amount of cheese. If you’re the kind of person who calls yourself a “pizza person” like it’s a personality trait, this is where you prove it.
Artuso Pastry: Your Nose Starts Crying First
Then there’s Artuso Pastry Shop, which should honestly come with a warning sign: “Do not enter if you’re pretending to be ‘off sugar.’”
The second you walk in, it smells like every good bakery memory you’ve ever had—plus a few you didn’t know you needed. Founded in 1946 by Vincent Artuso Sr., it’s now hitting its 80-year mark and is still run by the family. You can feel that in the way people talk behind the counter, the way they nudge you toward “just one more thing.”
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| Artuso Pastry Shop. |
Cannoli, sfogliatelle, and cases full of pastries that look like they were designed in collaboration with your inner child. Special holiday stuff, too: football-shaped cakes for the Super Bowl, breakable chocolate hearts, strawberries dipped like they’re auditioning for The Bachelor. Anthony Sr. is still at the helm after more than 65 years, along with his kids, sons-in-law, and a longtime assistant who might as well be blood at this point.
By the time we got to San Gennaro Restaurant, logic said “stop.” Arthur Avenue said, “Absolutely not.”
Chef Gennaro Martinelli, originally from Capua, cooks like someone who fully expects you to linger over every plate. We started with imported meats and cheeses from Northern Italy and calamari fritti with warm zeppole—because clearly, what fried needs is more fried.
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| Casarecce Frutti Di Mare: gluten-free casarecce made from tapioca and potato flour. |
San Gennaro - On Arthur Avenue
Then came the pasta, and I briefly considered moving to the Bronx out of respect.
There’s a homemade gluten-free pasta on the menu because a family member literally showed up from Italy with a suitcase full of their own gluten-free pasta. That’s not a dietary accommodation; that’s commitment.
We had:
Paccheri Genovese: wide rigatoni in a short ribs and onion ragù that clung to every ridge like it had abandonment issues.
Pasta Patate E Provol: a Neapolitan mix of pasta, potatoes, Provola, and pancetta that lives somewhere between soup, stew, and “don’t talk to me, I’m having a moment.”
Casarecce Frutti Di Mare: gluten-free casarecce made from tapioca and potato flour, swimming in a glossy, deeply seafood-y sauce that tasted like summers you didn’t actually have but now weirdly remember.
And then the mains showed up like we hadn’t just done all of that.
Pollo Scarpariello arrived with juicy chunks of chicken, snappy sausage, and sweet and hot peppers in a bright rosemary–lemon sauce that made the whole plate smell like someone flung open a window. Sole & Crab was a delicate filet of sole topped with sweet crab meat and a crisp, golden potato crown—because apparently, fish needs a hat. Crostoni alla Luciana was crusty bread piled with tender baby octopus in rich San Marzano tomato sauce, the kind of dish that makes you feel briefly, smugly Neapolitan.
Bring a Cart. I’m Serious.
Here’s the thing no one tells you: Arthur Avenue is not just a place to eat; it’s a place to shop like you’ve been adopted by five Italian nonnas who all insist you’re “too skinny.”
Bakeries, butchers, fish markets, delicatessens, pastry shops, specialty stores—many of them run by the same families for close to a century. You look at the shelves, and suddenly your brain is like, “Yes, I do need three kinds of olive oil and enough dried pasta to feed a small nation.”
If you’re joining an organized visit from Manhattan, they sometimes even throw in comped Metro-North tickets from Grand Central and a quick ride to and from Arthur Avenue. So yes, you can literally be handed a train ticket, fed within an inch of your life, and sent home with half a pantry.
Follow Bronx Little Italy on Instagram, Facebook, TikTok, and X if you want constant reminders that you’re not there right now.
Just don’t blame me when you show up “just for lunch” and leave dragging a cart full of cookies, cigars, and enough sausage to start your own neighborhood.
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