Sausages, Saints and Survivors

(And the cities that love them)

It’s no surprise that New York’s sister city in Italy is Rome. It makes sense with the whole Empire State, center of civilization thing.  But when it comes to food, customs, and overall swagger, I think New York’s natural kinship is not so much with the Eternal City as the  Infernal one. Hot, chaotic, and just dangerous enough to keep you alert— Naples is a place where a New Yorker truly feels at home.

“Don’t wear a watch” was the first advice we received from our friends in the quiet, bucolic region of Le Marche when we mentioned that we were planning a trip to Naples. “No bracelets, no handbags. Don’t look too fancy…” they counseled.

It seems that Naples is the one place where Italians encourage Americans to dress like, well… Americans. Pull out the gym shorts, cheap t-shirts, and fanny packs. “Maybe wear the running shoes” one suggested. “You might need to chase down a pickpocket.”

Yet when we actually arrived in Naples for three days of carb-loading and presepi- hunting (Via San Gregorio Armeno is a street entirely devoted to the hand-crafted holiday nativity figures), we found a cosmopolitan town teeming with extravagant architecture and stylish shops. Not to mention best-in-class culinary offerings in all three of the major food groups: pizza, coffee and cannoli.

Admittedly,  the traffic is a rule-defying blend of motocross and rugby, the alleys are narrow and crowded, and the locals can be a little pugnacious. One night, having decided to grab an end-of-evening espresso, we found a bar near the train station that was still open.  But inside, we were disappointed to see waiters stacking chairs and sweeping up.

When we asked about a coffee, the owner waved us off and pointed to the plate glass window at the front of the bar. We hadn’t noticed: there was a bullet hole through the center of it.

The worker next to us was sweeping up the shattered glass. “Maybe we open again later…” the owner suggested

So Naples is a little edgy. It feels  like New York City in the Eighties.

It’s not just a gritty, “Law & Order” ambiance that binds the two cities together. Naples and New York share a history, with so many immigrants from the Campania region landing at Ellis Island that Neapolitan traditions now often define what it means to be Italian in New York. Those first arrivals even brought us a saint: Januarius—better known to the faithful at the Duomo in Naples or on New York’s Mulberry Street as San Gennaro.

In keeping with tradition, the Feast of San Gennaro culminates this week in both cities, with  parades, Ferris wheels, religious processions and a stomach-churning sidewalk spread of sausages, fried fish, cacio e pepe pasta and gelato. Amidst the Tricolore tinsel, the t-shirt hawkers, and the carnival barkers, you can’t help but wonder:

Who was Gennaro anyway? And what kind of guy winds up the saint of places like this?

All roads lead back to Naples for this particular query. As Bishop of Benevento in 300 AD, Gennaro was frequently at odds with Roman emperor Diocletian and his henchmen, who would eventually have him arrested and condemned, with orders he be fed to the lions. (It may have actually been wild bears—the distinction likely being lost on Gennaro).  But upon coming face to face with  the beasts, the Bishop offered what must have been a very persuasive blessing. The animals knelt in front of him, refusing to attack.

Unfortunately, his Roman persecutors were less open-minded. Gennaro was beheaded instead on September 19, 305, the day that would subsequently mark his Feast celebration. After the execution, his blood was collected by a woman named Eusebia and placed in two vials, which are still preserved behind the Chapel of the Treasure of San Gennaro in Naples.

In addition to the ancient blood bank, the Treasure also includes Gennaro’s miter, a golden hat encrusted with jewels, weighing more than 40 pounds and valued at more than 7 million euro. The crown and the blood have 24 hour police protection, which is probably wise in a town where they warn you not to wear a wristwatch.

Revered as the protector of Naples, who wards off volcano explosions, famine or disease, San Gennaro’s work is ongoing, and he continues to be at the center of one of the stranger rituals on the Italian calendar. His preserved blood is believed to miraculously liquify three times every year— on the September Feast Day, the first Sunday in May, and December 16, the day that Vesuvius erupted in 1631.

On each of these days, the blood is brought to the altar of the Duomo in Naples, where throngs of people in and outside of the church wait for the miracle to repeat itself. Tension runs high. Sometimes the blood liquifies immediately, but at other times it can take hours or even days. On the rare occasions where the miracle does not occur, it’s considered a very bad omen indeed. Interestingly, the blood never liquified in December of 2020—during the Covid pandemic.

I confess to some skepticism about the powers of San Gennaro’s protection racket. Despite his best efforts, both  New York and Naples have been struck by their share of disasters and tough times over the years. I prefer to see San Gennaro as a symbol of resilience, a survivor in the face of calamity.

Set in Little Italy at the heart of Lower Manhattan, the San Gennaro celebration was cancelled in 2001, when the 9/11 attacks occurred the day before the festival was to begin. Twenty years later, it was cancelled again during the Covid lockdown. In both instances, New York was in crisis. Skeptics wondered if the neighborhood and the city itself could ever come back.

But this past Saturday, the Feast was in full swing, once again proving the power of a zeppola to unite people of all races and backgrounds. Outside Ferrara’s Famous Bakery & Cafe, crooner Jimmy Bono was sauntering through the Italo-American songbook, from “Put Your Head On My Shoulder” to  “Volare”.  When he struck up Frankie Valli’s “Can’t Take My Eyes Off Of You”, and ten blocks full of New Yorkers joined with him on the refrain—shouting “I love you bay-bee…” at the top of their lungs— it was enough to get the blood flowing in anyone.

There’s another San Gennaro story that has him thrown by his enemies into a fiery furnace. When they opened the doors again, Gennaro emerged alive. I like to picture him striding out of the steamy subway station at Spring Street, sweaty but undaunted. A survivor. Patron saint of tough towns everywhere.

“The sea won’t wash Naples” (Anna Maria Ortese)