Thomas Wolfe famously wrote, “You can’t go home again.”
For more than twenty years, I believed him.
Life had carried me from Rhode Island to Florida, through careers, adventures, raising a son, and eventually into a life spent traveling the world. I’d returned to Rhode Island plenty of times to visit family, but I hadn’t really returned to Providence. Not to wander its streets without an agenda. Not to revisit the places that quietly shaped who I became. Not to see whether the city I remembered still existed beneath all those passing years. I left Rhode Island twenty years ago, but I haven’t lived in Providence in over forty years, and I needed to know.
This time was different.
I came back with my cousin, my phone, an empty itinerary, and a heart full of memories. I expected to find a city that had changed beyond recognition. Instead, I discovered something far more surprising.
Providence had grown up.
But somehow, it had never forgotten who it was.
That realization began before I even reached the city.
Where I Stayed
Rather than staying downtown, I checked into The Loom Hotel, part of Hilton’s Tapestry Collection in nearby Warwick. I’ve stayed there before (many times) with my husband, and it has become one of my favorite places whenever I’m visiting Rhode Island. Housed inside a beautifully restored textile mill, the hotel embraces its industrial roots rather than hiding them. Concrete walls, soaring ceilings, exposed architectural details, and artwork inspired by weaving and textile production make every room, every hallway feel like a tribute to Rhode Island’s manufacturing past.
Originally it was the NYLO, but today The Loom feels even more connected to its history. It’s quiet, tucked away from the bustle of the city, yet only minutes from Interstate 95, downtown Providence, and T. F. Green Airport. After a day exploring the city, returning there felt less like checking into a hotel and more like coming home to an old mill that had simply found a new purpose.
- The Loom Hotel – 400 Knight St, Warwick 1-844-3TAPESTRY
If the hotel represented Rhode Island’s ability to reinvent itself, my first stop in Providence reminded me that some things should never change.
Food has Always Been My Love Language for Providence
There was one thing I’d been craving for more than twenty years.
Actually, three things.
Spinach pies.
Pepper pigs.
And Wimpy Skippies.
If you’ve never been to Caserta Pizzeria, those words probably sound completely made up. Around here, they’re practically a language of their own.
The moment I bit into that spinach pie, I was instantly transported back decades. The crisp, almost impossibly flavorful crust gave way to spinach, olive oil, and olives in a combination I’ve never found anywhere else. Over the years, I’ve tried spinach pies everywhere, hoping to recreate that memory.
Nothing has ever come close.
My cousin and I shared both a spinach pie and a pepper pig, each one exactly as I remembered. In fact, before we even finished eating, I was already wondering how many frozen spinach pies I could justify shipping back to Florida. (Yes, Caserta will happily send them.)
Some cravings aren’t about food.
They’re about memories.
- Caserta Pizzeria – 121 Spruce St, Providence
With lunch behind us, we wandered onto Federal Hill, and that’s when I realized this wasn’t simply going to be a nostalgic trip. It was going to be a conversation between the city I remembered and the one standing before me.
Pastiche was still there.
Walking through its doors felt remarkably familiar. The pastries looked just as beautiful as I remembered, and the warm, welcoming atmosphere hadn’t changed either.
For me, though, Pastiche has always been about much more than dessert.
Its original owner, Eileen Collins, once worked at the restaurant my husband owned. Long before Pastiche became one of Providence’s most beloved bakeries, Eileen unknowingly changed my life. She was the person who told me that he had a crush on me and finally allowed my future husband and me to get together and date. We knew each other, but somehow had never really connected on a more personal level until she helped create the moment that brought us together.
Later, Eileen became not only the baker at our restaurant but also our roommate. After meeting the man who would become her husband while on vacation, she eventually opened Pastiche. Years later, she retired and sold the bakery to the talented baker who had worked beside her.
The ownership changed.
The pastries didn’t.
Neither did the feeling that makes people come again and again.
- Pastiche – 92 Spruce St, Providence
Full from the food and dessert, we wandered through DePasquale Square, past places that had once been part of my weekly routine. Antonelli Poultry, where chickens once famously hung in the front window, which I would buy for both our restaurant and at home. Scialo Brothers Bakery, whose rolls found their way onto the tables at our own restaurant. Venda Ravioli, now not just a small ravioli creator but a large grocery called Costantino’s, still retaining the name of Venda as part of the name and still tempting visitors with fresh pasta and imported specialties (and the only ravioli that we would serve). Tony’s Colonial Food Store, where I used to shop every week for authentic Italian ingredients.
At first, Federal Hill seemed wonderfully unchanged.
Then I looked across the street. My father’s favorite restaurant was gone.
For years, he spent countless afternoons at The Old Canteen with Joe Marzilli, talking about cars, horses, politics, and whatever else happened to come up among the Federal Hill regulars. Whenever I joined him, I never even looked at the menu.
Shrimp fra diavolo. Every single week. It was the best. It was the only place where I’d eat it. It is one that I’ll forever miss.
The grand old mansion that housed The Old Canteen is now home to Wally’s Wieners. I stood there for a moment trying to reconcile the two images in my mind. The building was the same, but gone were the old men, gone was the traditional menu, gone was Joe in his suit, and long gone was my dad. Things HAD changed.
And somehow…that felt perfectly appropriate. Because that’s what this entire trip was beginning to teach me. You don’t come home expecting everything to stay frozen in time. You come home hoping enough remains that you can still recognize yourself.
If the morning had been about rediscovering the Providence I knew, the afternoon was about embracing the Providence I didn’t.
The Art of GlassMaking at Gather Glass
Just off Atwells Avenue, tucked among the restaurants and shops of Federal Hill, we wandered into Gather Glass, where the ancient art of glassblowing is being passed on to a new generation. I had never imagined that one day I’d be making my own piece of glass art in the same neighborhood where I once came simply to eat, shop, and visit friends. We had an appointment, and while this was WAY out of my comfort zone (I was a dancer and actress at one time working for the RI State Council on the Arts), I love learning new art forms. Especially since so many of the servers in our restaurant left with Dale Chihuly to be glassblowers for him when he left RISD to open his studio in Seattle.
The studio itself is a real working studio. The furnace glows at a blistering 2,100 degrees, turning solid glass into a glowing ribbon of molten color that somehow manages to look both delicate and impossibly strong. Before we ever approached the furnace, we were introduced to the remarkable glass itself. Many of the brilliant colors used in the studio come from the Czech Republic, long recognized as one of the world’s premier producers of art glass, while the main glass comes from Germany. The different types of glass are combined to achieve the vibrant blues, fiery reds, brilliant greens, and shimmering metallic effects that make every finished piece unique.
Choosing colors turned out to be almost as difficult as creating the artwork itself.
While my cousin immediately decided she was going to challenge herself by making a flower, I took the safer route and chose to create a paperweight. “Safer,” of course, is a relative term when you’re working inches away from molten glass.
Under the patient guidance of master glass artist Ian Silvia, I slowly learned that glass has a rhythm all its own. Too slow, and gravity wins. Too fast and the shape disappears. I carefully rotated the glowing glass, constantly spinning it to keep it centered while repeatedly returning it to the furnace to maintain just the right temperature. With each trip back to the heat, the glass softened enough to be shaped again.
I rolled the hot glass across a smooth metal table to coax it into something that resembled a circle, learning that even the slightest movement could change its shape. When the time came to finish the bottom, one sharp tap with a wooden bat separated the stem, and Ian tapped it on the table for me, creating a flat surface that would eventually allow the paperweight to sit perfectly on a table.
Next up, my cousin was having an entirely different experience. While I concentrated on creating symmetry, she carefully stretched and pulled glowing ribbons of glass into delicate flower petals, transforming a blob of molten glass into something surprisingly elegant. Watching both projects take shape side by side made me appreciate just how much artistry goes into every handmade piece.
Neither of us will be giving Dale Chihuly much competition anytime soon.
But for one afternoon, we were glass artists.
Like all good things created with patience, our pieces couldn’t be rushed. They spent the night slowly cooling in a special annealing oven before they would be ready for pickup the following day, giving us yet another reason to return.
And next door, in one of the more amusing examples of Providence’s sense of humor, was Gather Cafe.
After spending the afternoon beside a furnace blazing at 2,100 degrees, we found ourselves standing only a few feet away watching homemade ice cream being created with liquid nitrogen at an icy minus 321 degrees. You couldn’t design a better pairing if you tried. One business celebrates fire. The other celebrates freezing. Together they make one of the most unique stops on Federal Hill.
- Whether alone or with friends or family, you’ll want to take a class at Gather Glass and grab a treat (or take a class) at Gather Cafe
By evening, however, it was time for something I had been looking forward to almost as much as those spinach pies.
Dinner at Pot au Feu.
Some restaurants serve meals.
Others serve memories.
Pot au Feu has been doing both for generations.
Long before it became my favorite restaurant in Providence, the building itself was already part of my family’s story. My grandfather owned his first restaurant, Ben’s Fine Foods, on the third floor of the historic Wilcox Building where Pot au Feu resides. Years later, my husband learned the art of bartending downstairs at the legendary Custom House Tavern, whose space is now incorporated into Pot au Feu.
Those walls have witnessed nearly a century of my family’s history.
The restaurant itself holds another distinction (aside from being a place my date, now my husband, would take me when we were dating). It is the one restaurant in Providence that has always understood that true French cooking isn’t about fancy presentations or complicated techniques.
It’s about heart.
I remember when Bob Burke purchased Pot au Feu. We were already devoted fans of his acclaimed restaurant, Federal Reserve, so expectations were high. Somehow, he managed to preserve everything that made Pot au Feu special when our friend Richard had owned it while quietly making it even better.
Some restaurants improve with renovations.
Pot au Feu has improved with time.
The escargot arrived exactly as it should, nestled in warm shells overflowing with garlic butter so fragrant that resisting the urge to sop up every last drop with bread required considerable self-control. My salad was dressed with a true blue cheese vinaigrette, the kind that’s becoming increasingly difficult to find.
Then came the reason I had been thinking about this restaurant for years.
The Bœuf à la Bourguignonne
Tender doesn’t begin to describe it. The beef braised in red wine and delicately spiced so that the beef and wine stand out practically dissolved with each bite, the demi-glace had clearly been given the time it deserved. Bob came and shared one of his culinary secrets with us. Unlike most recipes, Pot au Feu does not sear the meat before braising it; instead, it just marinates it until it is so tender that the searing not only isn’t necessary, but you realize that this is the way you love it. Pure and tender. The result is a dish that proves patience often creates flavors that technique alone cannot.
Beside it sat potato gratinées, perfectly browned with a layer of cheese (more of a combination of dauphinoise and savoyard), which naturally found its way halfway into the bourguignon, happily soaking up every drop of that remarkable sauce.
This wasn’t modern French cuisine. This is real French cooking. The kind I remembered from my time living in France when I was young. Food that doesn’t need to impress because it already knows exactly what it is. Food that comes from a maman’s heart.
Across the table, my cousin enjoyed a beautifully prepared wild mushroom pâté, showcasing the chef’s passion for foraging for champignons, followed by delicate beef-filled crêpes that disappeared almost as quickly as they arrived.
As wonderful as dinner was, the evening wasn’t finished…
Afterward, we wandered downstairs to discover that the old Custom House Tavern had been lovingly transformed into an educational dining space where visitors can explore Rhode Island’s remarkable history and how the culinary changes happened as the years progressed. It beautifully connects the state’s original Native American community, immigrant communities, and settlers into one ongoing story that explains why food has always been at the heart of Providence.
It’s deserving of an article all its own.
We had lingered over dinner longer than we realized. Then, suddenly looked at the clock.
- You’ll find Pot au Feu at 44 Custom House St, Providence
- Call: (401) 273-8953 for reservations
Our gondola was waiting.
What followed was less a graceful departure than two women running through downtown Providence after one of the best meals of their lives, hoping our gondolier hadn’t given up on us.
Thankfully, he hadn’t….
To be continued.
- For more about visiting Providence and ALL of Rhode Island, check out VisitRhodeIsland.com
