To celebrate birthdays and weddings, the Family usually prefers high-end restaurants around the city. However, for more intimate occasions, one of the cozy Italian-owned places in North End is usually a go-to choice.
The narrow alley where Massimo has parked his car has nothing in common with the colorful neighborhood I’m familiar with. There are no stores with trinkets in the windows, no happy people laughing as they walk by, and no enticing smells of Italian cuisine. Just a somber-looking taverna at the end of a deserted, dark lane. An old wooden sign above the door, so weathered by the elements that the name of the establishment isn’t even visible, is hardly a welcoming sight. The windows of the place are so grimy that even if the light inside was on, I still probably wouldn’t be able
