Snapshot: Little Italy
It was Easter weekend when my husband and I visited Providence for an Endless Vacation story. That Saturday, when we checked out the town’s Italian-American quarter, Federal Hill, the neighborhood was buzzing with people preparing for the holiday. “It’s like the Sopranos,” my husband said, as we watched freshly coiffed women emerging from salons and picking up last-minute ingredients for Sunday’s feast. Men huddled in backs of stores, staying out of the way. The most crowded place on Atwells Avenue, the main drag, was Constantino’s Venda Ravioli—a mecca to Italian food with glass cases displaying cold cuts, artisanal cheeses and about 150 kinds of fresh and frozen pastas and sauces. Customers were clamoring for the servers’ attention, shouting out orders for stuffed artichokes, lasagna, meatballs, veal chops, frittata, arancini, chicken Marsala and on and on. Then, before even leaving the store, they sat down at folding tables squeezed between shelves of cookware to sample the food. It’s that good.

Making Sense of Art
I’ve never been much of a museum lover. Somehow, during my four years in Providence as a student at Brown, I never entered Rhode Island School of Design’s exquisite RISD Museum. When I finally toured the galleries during this trip, I realized that I was not only enthusiastic but, after a few hours, reluctant to leave. I learned more from “Reviewing the 20th Century,” the museum’s featured exhibit, than I did in a semester of art history classes. Suddenly I understood how cubism led to pop art which, in turn, led to a designer gown. Earlier, I’d met a woman (standing in line at Constantino’s, naturally) who’d described the museum’s annual exhibition of RISD students’ work. Though it was not on view when we visited, the museum’s director told us that student works will have a permanent place in a new extension.

On the Couch
During my years as an intellectual and arty student in Providence, I spent many evenings at the Cable Car Cinema & Café. Eleven years later, the funky art house is, thankfully, still here. (It actually dates back to the mid ’70s.) The Cable Car is no regular cinema: Instead of hardback theater seats, viewers sink into cozy couches to watch 35-mm projections of obscure and foreign (and some mainstream studio) films. And, instead of greasy, fake-buttered popcorn, the café offers spinach pie and hot chocolate. The tradition of pre-show music also continues—usually folk songs or moldy pop songs sung by a local musician playing an acoustic guitar. (We used to cringe a bit at these performances.) RISD students curate series that show how filmmaking has evolved, making me nostalgic for the days when we thought we knew everything.