Whether they'd venture further, into the taquerias that have sprouted in shops abandoned on the market's southern flank was less certain. And they were certainly not bent on discovering a true delicacy - the cilantro-topped Vietnamese hoagies around the corner.
When you drop in a couple of times a year, it's not for new experiences. It's to relive the old ones; to gaze once again upon the pyramids of pannetone.
The show here is still suitably primal, and rawer; the fire barrels sifting up flurries of ash, snowflakes returning home.
The blue crabs flail in bushel baskets. The rabbits hang in white fur coats. The pigs in pink. Cleavers chop. Carts rattle. From his mural, Frank Rizzo presides, as silent as night, dark and impassive.
The tubs of ricotta are in the windows, awaiting the rush of the Christmas pie-makers. At Claudio's, the provolone hang like big bananas. At Anthony's Chocolates, the hazelnut torrone has that yielding, airy nougat found only in fresh, homemade torrones.
It was a full $3 to park in the lot on Washington Avenue beside Anastasi's Seafood, so locals and returnees alike dueled fiercely for spaces on the street, double-parking, illegally parking, in-front-of-driveway parking, in-middle-of-street parking.
Those who bit the bullet and pulled into the lot were happy to learn that the $3 fee included $1 off any purchase at Anastasi's, and owner Sal Anastasi was instructing the attendant to direct parkers to cross the street only at the corner with Ninth Street, the better to funnel them past his outdoor fish cases.
Inside them were trays of snakey eels and tiny, silvery smelts, parched slabs of salt-cod baccala, and sardines, traditional guests at the Feast of Seven Fishes extant in many, if each year fewer, Italian homes.
