Alleva Dairy Alleva Dairy 188 Grand St. (Mulberry St.) 212-226-7990 My ...

My first time in Little Italy, I was assaulted. Two aggressive maitre d's swooshed my friend and me from the Mulberry St. sidewalk into a tacky Italian trattoria, forcing us into a land of red checkered tablecloths, poorly drawn frescos and amateur entertainment. Pressured by their noisy hospitality and our touristy desire not to offend, we stayed.

Between being served (and charged for) several feeble entrees that we did not order, and sitting through bungled renditions of Motown classics, an indelible black stain formed on my first impression of Little Italy.

With the exception of a third-rate fling with a fellow on Mulberry St., I never went back there seeking fun or adventure. Terribly disappointed by its commercial-grade bakeries and exploitation of wide-eyed travelers, I sought Italian eats elsewhere. Pizza from Sullivan Street Bakery, cheeses from Fairway, olive oils and pastas from Bronx-based Italian importer Esperya?it wasn't too hard to fill the void.

Years later, I was drawn back to Little Italy as a culinary destination only when I discovered that the country's oldest Italian cheesemaker was there. Alleva Dairy (or latticcini) has been making its own mozzarella on the corner of Mulberry and Grand Sts. since 1892. Once upon a time they also made their own ricotta, which for the last 25 years has been produced in Schenectady, and before that, the Catskills.

Robert Alleva is the fourth generation upholder of a 111-year tradition. He agrees that Little Italy is hard to peg, even to tourists. "They call it Little Italy, but when the tourists come, they're here and they'll ask me, 'Where is Little Italy?'"

If that elusive "Little Italy" is to be found anywhere, it's on Grand St., where shops like Alleva's and the celebrated DiPaolo's still make their own "muzzerell." From about nine in the morning to noon daily, Alleva produces 400 to 500 pounds of cheese, which he invariably unloads in preparation for the next day's batch.

"It's like bread almost. You can keep mozzarella for a couple of days in water, but you don't really get the juiciness or the milkiness," says Alleva. He recommends that the cheese not be refrigerated, but be eaten on the day it is made. "You can keep bread for a couple of days, but it's not the same thing."

In the back of the one-room shop that has changed little since its earlier days, Alleva keeps tubs of cool water that hold the blocks of cheese curds used to make the cheese. He places 80 pounds of curds into a mixer-like device that breaks them up mechanically. The machine was specially rigged by Alleva's grandfather to be just the right speed?if the curds are broken too vigorously, the butterfat separates from the cheese and rises to the surface. The trick is to make sure that the butterfat is incorporated into the finished product.

Introduce hot water and steam, and the cheese mixture begins to resemble taffy. When it's "not too hard, and not too soft," Alleva shapes the mozzarella into ostrich egg-sized balls, logs and ping pong-shaped bocconcini, then cools them in brine. "Most people come in and ask for mozzarella, and if it's not packed in a Cryovac package, they see it dripping and they think there's something wrong with it."

Why Alleva, who went to college to be a medical technician, chose to maintain the family business is a question easily answered. "There aren't a lot of businesses in Manhattan that can say that they've been in business for 111 years. That's something to be proud of."

[gabi@nypress.com](mailto:gabi@nypress.com)