Noah Caldwell-Rafferty

Noah Caldwell-Rafferty

One recent Tuesday afternoon near the entrance of Marché Jean- Talon, a young man with slick Elvis hair played blues on a chrome resonator guitar. Among his audience were two casual wall-leaners, a pair of dancing five-year-olds, a whole market full of produce vendors, my roommate, and myself. The scene was unusual to a couple of McGillians used to the academic hum-drum of the student ghetto. But within moments we had settled easily into the rhythm of the neighborhood, allowing the happy-go-lucky ambience to overtake us. This was the reason we had walked for half an hour up Boulevard St. Laurent.

Heading north from downtown, Little Italy sits east of Mount Royal between the streets of St. Zotique and Jean Talon. A marble arch announces the community’s border, reminding its visitors of Chinatown.  Generic thrift stores and delis quickly give way to upscale boutiques and delicious Sicilian restaurants, exuding a rare combination of prosperity and humility: kid-friendly parks are surrounded by a noticeably high number of Ferraris.

Little Italy is a historically idyllic enclave. By the end of the 19th century, thousands of Italian immigrants were following jobs in the railroad yards and quarries to this exact spot, soon establishing a parish and cultivating a distinctly Italian way of life. What was once farmland was transformed into a thriving community, recreating all the pleasures and amenities of home.

Back in Marché Jean-Talon, we strolled corridors of fruit, vegetables, gelato, and even the odd poutine stand. A spunky vendor caught our eye, presiding over an array of maple treats that even made me, a Vermonter, look in wonder.  Syrup, butter, fudge, lozenges, you name it.  A seasoned veteran of the market, and no older than 30, he confidently surveyed his surroundings.  “We get our syrup from Rougement in the eastern townships. Big farm?  No, no, tiny farm. They make it just for us.” He gestured: “This is where they close off the market in winter.  We move to right there.” He pointed, with a shy grin, which I took to mean his stand was one of the established few which remain all year round.

The small-town aura was inescapable as we walked the rows of gleaming produce. Finding a particularly exotic display, I asked the vendor if he had any Korean pears (a favorite of mine).  With a serious frown he shook his head, recommending the Chinese grocery down the road. Two subsequent vendors shrugged, with the same response.  Perhaps I had found the market’s true nature: local means local. Local fruit, local syrup, local everything. I debated how off-kilter I would sound asking for a Korean pear in a Chinese grocery.

Luckily, Jean Talon came through in a pinch. At Chez Louis, a store overflowing with freshness, I found an Asian pear.  Louis himself informed me that depending on the time of year, they could be Korean, Chinese, Japanese.  “What matters is that they’re fresh,” Louis said. I couldn’t agree more, and we departed from the sprawling market, fruit in hand, without a single disappointment.

While the Marché is Little Italy’s main shopping attraction, the historic glue of the community lies down the street. The Church of the Madonna della Difesa, on Rue Henri Julien, sits amidst a plethora of biblical street names (Dante, Alma, etc.). Built in 1919, it is the parish’s pride and joy, sporting sublime frescoes inside its Romanesque, cruciform architecture. We perused its perimeter and read its National Historic Site of Canada plaque before trying the doors. It was locked—mass wasn’t until 7 pm.

If you go to Little Italy, arrive around dinner time. Pre-dinner shopping will bring an appetite worthy of restaurants second to none in the city. After a gelato at Jean Talon, catch evening mass at Difesa, marvel at sparkling frescoes, and head home quite content.