By Suzanne Sataline
Special to The Washington Post
Wednesday, July 30, 2003; C02
A Philadelphian can spend his entire life arguing about cheese. Locatelli, pecorino, provolone, Parmesan. Buffalo milk ricotta. Cheez Whiz. No Cheez Whiz. You name it, every Philadelphian born is an expert created. With cheese steaks there's the added component of "with" or "without" -- referring to onions -- and whether the type of roll matters (of course it does!), escalating the complexity of the debate to Puccini heights. Here food is sport, a studied and contested topic worthy of a PhD. Much food obsession can be traced to a strip of ramshackle rowhouses with corrugated roofs listing toward a narrow, pockmarked street in the city's cramped south end. The Ninth Street Italian Market is the city's academy of food. It claims to be the oldest and largest outdoor market in the United States. Which just means that the debates have brewed for decades. A century ago, it became the nexus for butchers and winemakers and cheese sellers importing from back home. Since then the number of stores has shrunk, which has generated a string of intense rivalries. The best cheese? Claudio's vs. Di Bruno Bros. Meat? A trifecta pitting D'Angelo's against Fiorello's against Esposito's. For cannoli you opt for Termini's or head to Isgro's. For cheese steaks line up at Pat's or Geno's, although some people throw off the symmetry by traveling farther south for a bite from Tony Luke's. Once in one camp, rarely are sides changed. Di Bruno's people do not sneak over to buy oil from Claudio's. Ever. (For that matter, market people do not buy from Reading Terminal, the city's other major food bazaar.) Nobody can really explain his loyalties. It's just a question of nurture. You are molded at a young age into a Claudio's/Tony Luke's/ Isgro's person, for instance. And there you remain. Those people will forever trace the same path to the market, week to week, store to store, some homing device guiding them from the deer carcass that hangs by its heels outside of D'Angelo's to the salty cones of provolone dangling inside of Claudio's. Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrip! Sal Auriemma rips a large square of butcher's paper from the roll, climbing like the ascension of a zipper. He is the dry-witted owner of Claudio Specialty Food, the store his father started and one of the biggest money makers on the strip. "What else, Mr. Fiorella?" "Some sopressata," replies the owner of the neighboring sausage shop. Saturdays the market is a riot of suburbanites who have driven hours for their week's supply of cheese and locals picking up a few last-minute items. Out on Ninth Street someone is blasting Sinatra. A crowd converges on Claudio's until the line of customers in front of the refrigerated cases runs three deep. Before them is the best Italy has to offer: plump cut squid; pungent stuffed peppers; multiple generations of sharp cheddar; squat, fat sausages called sopressata. Behind them is an assortment of olives swimming in brine, imported dried pastas in hard-to-find shapes like gnocchetti and enough different bottles of oil and vinegar to form their own genera. The meat slicer hisses and another pound of prosciutto falls in a limp, pink huddle. Sal and his crew wheel around one another to avoid collisions. The work area is on a raised platform, giving the air of pastors tending their flock. Communion is served. Claudio Auriemma passes around slices of rich white pecorino studded with salty truffles and there is a chorus of oohs. "The culture here is all about relationships," said Senya D. Isayeff, one of those Italian wannabes who first came to Claudio's 14 years ago and has never strayed. Here you can walk up and get a taste. "When you get the munchies at 4, 5 in the morning, where else do you find this level of comfort food?" His find that day was shooters -- plump cherry peppers stuffed with prosciutto and cheese. The store opened in 1942 stocking fresh provolone and imported oils. Now Sal has his own vinegar bottled in Modena, a thick burgundy syrup that his staff slathers on everything. "Pretty much what we sell we import -- usually from the guy who made it," Sal says. There have been no worries about slowing sales. "When the economy's bad, people eat more!" he says brightly. If appetites were the standard, then the Dow was positively underwater judging by the noshing at Di Bruno Bros.' new store, Pronto. It's a boutique place, selling cheese and prepared foods. Felice Verrecchia sat on a stool, tackling an enormous pork sandwich. With each bite he lurched over his shirt to avoid splashing himself with oil or sauce. "I'm Italian, but I'm a Jew and God forbid I'm eating pork on the Sabbath," he says, wiping his lips. He claims to be a Di Bruno's guy from way back. "Claudio's is just bigger -- that's all," he sniffs. Across from Claudio's, Sonny D'Angelo's shop is churchlike. It's summer and meat demands have slackened. D'Angelo picks up a hairless rabbit. Four good whacks and the denuded creature is divvied up like a clover. On to the buffalo. One stroke and he cleaves a three-inch-thick steak from a side of meat the shade of persimmon. He is a hulking, bearded man with a medieval weapon. Hang out there too long and you start to think a lot about Freddy Krueger. D'Angelo's grandfather started the store and the offspring have expanded his repertoire to include Japanese Kobe beef, a variety of game and, on occasion, such delicacies as yak and ostrich. His meaty sausage is chopped and stuffed at the store. A seasonal favorite is the French summer sausage, soaked in champagne, studded with apples. D'Angelo can be monklike with strangers, but get him talking about Japanese beef and he is transformed into a man of passion. "It's different in the way it's raised," he says, his words punctuated by the thud of the cleaver. "The cows are raised in connection with people. [Whack!] They're given beer! They're content animals. [Whack!] When they're finished, it's top-notch prime." The three shops serve as the crown of the market, near Christian Street. Farther down are more butchers, fishmongers, even a Middle Eastern emporium. But keep walking and you'll notice many buildings are boarded up as owners retire and their offspring show no interest in hacking veal shanks six days a week. D'Angelo has taken it upon himself to stanch the decay by starting a Web site and promoting several cookbooks that he hopes will introduce the market to newer generations. In doing so, he is counting on the lure of Italian food. But the future of Philly cuisine might lie less than a mile south of Washington Street. There, in three separate strip malls, Chinese and Vietnamese families have opened mega-groceries, sprawling restaurants and quickie spots that ladle up beef soup called pho. Unlike the Italian Market, the stores are open seven days, morning until bedtime. In a few years, in true Philadelphia style, the pho and spring roll wars will doubtless begin. Amtrak (800-872-7245, www.amtrak.com) runs several trains daily to Philadelphia; a one-way weekend ticket costs $45. Amtrak is offering 20 percent discounts for online booking until Sept. 17. STAYING THERE: Because of the Republican National Convention a few years back, Philadelphia has a lot of hotels. Now they're practically giving rooms away. Through Sept. 14, many hotels will offer a second night free. A double at the Doubletree Hotel (237 S. Broad St., 215-893-1600) costs $129 per night. Otherwise, good deals can be found at the Comfort Inn Downtown (100 N. Christopher Columbus Blvd., 215-627-7900). With discount coupons -- widely available at interstate reststops -- you can get a $79 room with a queen-size bed for $65. SHOPPING THERE: The Ninth Street market is along small, almost Old World streets, which makes for great atmosphere and lousy parking. Take a cab, or be prepared to troll for a place. Go in the morning for a better selection and before the cramped streets and small shops get too ripe. The market teems on Saturdays, which means there's competition for the cannoli and prosciutto. But it's the circus that gives the place zest. Not all stores are open on Sunday, and those that are close by early afternoon. Weekday morning visits are especially delightful, as the vendors have time to educate you. Most of the shops have Web sites and will ship their goods. For general info: http://www.phillyitalianmarket.com/. EATING THERE: Market merchants don't like to create enemies, so they'll whisper in your ear that the best southern Italian cooking (outside their mothers' homes) is north of the market. La Famiglia (8 S. Front St.) is one of the fanciest and priciest temples, but the food is sublime. Dinner for two, with all the courses, will easily run more than $100, and reservations are crucial. For the other extreme, try Shank and Evelyn's (932 S. 10th St.), a real "jernt" where the broccoli rabe is fresh, and so is the help. Cheese steaks et al. start at $5. Open for breakfast and lunch. INFO: Greater Philadelphia Tourism Marketing Corp., 215-599-0776, http://www.gophila.com/.