Visitors to the small shop, including some locals who’ve been relying on its fresh macaroni for their Sunday dinners for more than half a century, don’t just get to bring the tender semolina noodles home. They can also gaze into the open kitchen as the owners and pasta makers knead, press, and squeeze the yellow dough into ornate shapes of carbohydrate bliss.

In 1957, young mother Nella Costella regularly walked her baby carriage past Cassinelli Pasta, stopping in to chat. Like so many residents of the heavily Italian-American neighborhood, she had emigrated from Italy a few years before with no knowledge of English. She took night classes and became friendly with the proprietors of the neighborhood pasta shop, eventually starting a part-time job.