American Brothers
Since they were teenagers, the Ottomanelli Brothers have been butchers. Joe carries in the wholesale crates of lamb. Jerry fields calls and paperwork. Frank picks out the cuts. Decades later, they are still on the block, but now they are part of the “last standing generation” of butchers. And Bleecker Street’s American brothers have no succession plan.
Shrouded in scaffolding, Ottomanelli’s butcher shop on Bleecker Street is quiet before 8 a.m., when the day’s deliveries arrive.
Joe Ottomanelli pushes in carts of lamb, which will be chopped into smaller, sellable pieces throughout the day. Early in the morning, there are few people walking in the West Village. But not many will emerge; there is a lack of interest in butcher shops, especially in younger generations, Joe observed. “Their parents, their teachers –– they just go shopping at the supermarket,” Joe said. “Young people are intimidated.”
The Ottomanelli brothers work at their butcher stations, which have had a designated order for nearly 70 years. Frank works to the left of the store’s entrance, followed by his deceased brother Peter, then Jerry, and Joe closest to the back. Ornofio Ottomanelli –– the founder of the store and father to these brothers –– worked in the middle, where he divided the four brothers and kept the peace. “This is my desk,” Frank said, chuckling while showing the uneven butcher blocks which allow for more precise cuts.
Unlike in supermarkets, butchers can cover meat in lard, which enhances the quality and taste.
Frank has three hats in rotation: A blue New York Giants one, an Ottomanelli Brothers one from old merchandise, and a St. John’s University one. But he mostly sticks to the Giants one as he sticks up front, greeting customers who enter. “I’m the frontman of the band,” Frank exclaimed.
Mike cuts at some chuck, or a hunk of a cow’s neck. Swiping his knife against another only minutes earlier, he describes the technique of scraping metal bellies against each other to highlight sharpness and edge. Mike was first hired by Onofrio when he was 18, as a senior in high school at a specialized butcher program. He has been here for over 40 years. “Yeah, he’s a real brother,” Frank said.
Matt, left, helps Joe lift crates of meat from the Ottomanelli’s delivery truck into carts for the store. Matt is Frank’s son, but he does not plan on assuming the family store. “I’d go into wholesale,” Matt said. “Retail’s a dying business now.” As he bid a West Village local a happy St. Patrick’s day, he whispered, “Our only real busy days are over the holidays.”
On a Tuesday morning, Jerry fields calls after two team members do not show up. One brother, Frank, was supposed to have the afternoon off. That would have to change.
A sign from the Ottomanelli brothers mourning the victims of the 9/11 tragedy. They have always worked on this stretch of Bleecker Street and 7th Avenue. The first shop was one door down, where there is now an Insomnia Cookies store, for 9 years. They were on the corner, where the Blind Tiger bar is now, for 30 years. And they have been in this storefront on the block for over 30 years. “It’s the third move, and it’s the final move,” Frank said.
A customer since 1978, Lucia orders three pieces of corned beef in time for an Irish holiday. “My only butcher. My favorite butcher,” Lucia, who has gone exclusively to the Ottomanelli brothers for all these decades, said. She moved from New York City to Connecticut on March 16, 2020, at the start of the pandemic. But she still comes to the West Village for fresh cuts. “They’re good. They know their meats. If you have the best butcher, you’ll need nothing else.”
Frank wakes up every morning at 4:00 a.m. to go to the meat market, where he has first dibs on select cuts. He often gets home at 6:30 p.m.. But closing is earlier than years prior, before the mass commercialization of online ordering and a punch to family-run butcher shops. “Things are different now,” Frank said.
A hand-drawn sign from a customer to the three Ottomanelli brothers, Jerry, Joe, and Frank. Jerry is 81, Frank is 79, and Joe is 65. Retirement will become, eventually, an option on the table. “Hoping my wife is still with us, I would like to just enjoy spring and summer,” Frank said. “Maybe do some gardening, with vegetables and herbs.” He did not mention the future of the Ottomanelli’s butcher shop. But he did mention that they will celebrate their 58th anniversary in June.