An appetite for tradition

On North End menu, tripe feeds memories

At Nebo in the North End, Bobby DiMarzo (right) finished dinner with (from left) Bill Verdi and tripe fans Sam Giso and Arcangelo DiFronzo . (Dominic Chavez/Globe Staff)

John Legend is crooning on the sound system at Nebo, a restaurant on the edge of the North End that's all dark wood, exposed brick walls, and clean, modern lines. At the marble bar, 20-somethings flirt over cocktails. It seems like the epitome of the new North End, a neighborhood increasingly full of condos, boutiques, and people some lifelong residents call simply "not-Italians."

But at a long table at the front of the restaurant, a group of six men ranging in age from their 50s to their 70s have gathered for dinner. They come here for pasta, plates of the tiny fish called smelts, and tripe - particularly tripe.

In the old North End, Saturday was tripe day. The cow stomach bubbled in pots in kitchens all over the neighborhood, simmering in spicy tomato sauce. "Everybody ate the same thing every week," says Carla Pallotta, who runs Nebo with her sister, Christine.

These days, tripe is harder to come by, available in just a few restaurants in the neighborhood and no longer popular with home cooks. The men first came to Nebo out of respect: They knew the Pallotta sisters, who grew up in the North End right around the corner from the restaurant. But they kept coming for the tripe.

Tripe can be tricky - and, frankly, stinky - to prepare. It must be properly cleaned, by soaking and boiling, then braised for hours to make it tender. People no longer know how to cook it, and they don't have time. In 1920, the North End was 90 percent of Italian descent. In 2006, it was about 30 percent, as well-heeled young professionals moved in and families, priced out of the real estate market, moved on.

And then there's the ick factor. Cow stomach - with a texture that can resemble cooked portobello mushrooms or uncooked rubber bands, depending on how well it's prepared - doesn't appeal to everyone.

But hunger for the dish remains, as the Pallottas discovered when they put it on the menu. They mentioned that they would be serving it to a few of the men at the clubs. "We told the guys down the corner because we knew they couldn't get it," Carla Pallotta says. Soon they were pouring in for the $16 dish - "sometimes two, sometimes 10," she says. "They'll call up and say, 'We're coming in. The guys are going to get together.' "

The Pallottas purchase raw tripe, ivory in color with a honeycomb texture, from the nearby Sulmona Meat Market, which has been in business for nearly 50 years. (Nebo has been in business for almost three, a very different restaurant from one that used to occupy the space -Francesco's, notorious as the site of Mafia boss Gennaro J. Angiulo's 1983 arrest.) "People used to buy it more before," says Sulmona owner Domenico Susi. "The younger generation, I don't think they go for it. It's high in cholesterol. All the organs are."

Christine Pallotta prepares it in a spicy tomato sauce with bay leaves and hot red pepper, her grandmother's recipe. "Tripe is the only dish I don't let anyone else make," she says. "The consistency you have to get just right." The men at the table taste it with appreciation.

"It has a kick today!" exclaims Arcangelo DiFronzo, better known as Bochie, as he takes his first bite.

"I kicked it!" says Christine Pallotta.

"It's an artery killer, but it's something we grew up with," DiFronzo says. "Like we grew up with squid, octopus, and mussels. It was a poor man's dish. Now it's a delicacy. We used to get things for nothing. Now you have to pay for anything. Razor clams, people wouldn't even look at them."

Sammy Giso does a lot of his own cooking at home. "I have to, because I'm all by myself," he says. "But tripe is too much work for me. It's a lost art. People don't make it anymore."

Eating tripe offers a taste of the past. "Everybody has something from their childhood that brings a memory," Carla Pallotta says. "Some people have memories about food."

That's true not just for Italians. Brazilians, Colombians, Bermudians, and Mexicans from Somerville, Chelsea, and Cambridge have all come in for tripe. The dish is part of their culture, too, as well as an ingredient in several Asian cuisines. A woman from El Salvador who works in the Nebo kitchen cooks it at home in Revere, in a stew with potatoes. The Pallottas have a Portuguese friend in Cambridge who makes a version with white beans.

Local chefs have also become fans. "Ken Oringer loves it," Carla Pallotta says of the chef at Clio and other local restaurants. "Anthony [Caturano] from Prezza. Angela [Raynor] from the Pearl in Nantucket."

But no one seems to love it quite as much as the regulars. One, who comes in every Friday for two or three bowls, called with a special request. He was heading to Florida and wanted to take 20 pounds of tripe with him to share with his buddies.

"He said, 'We're dying for tripe. We're gonna play cards,' " Christine Pallotta says. "So we made 20 pounds of tripe, cooled it down, put it in jumbo Ziploc bags, and put it in a cooler like it was from an organ donor." He took it with him on the plane.

"If you can't get something," Christine Pallotta says, "you want it."

Devra First can be reached at dfirst@globe.com.