I was feeling a little down the other day and I knew there was only one thing that could cheer me up: Going to Little Italy.

But not the Little Italy you’re probably thinking of; I’m talking about the one in the Bronx.

Arthur Avenue has more than a dozen Italian food shops and restaurants that have been passed down from family members for over 100 years.

Plus there is an incredible indoor market where you can stock up on everything from cappicola to cannoli to these beautiful green Cerignola olives.

Everything is fresh, legit and delicious.

There are tons of restaurants but this was my favorite concept. You walk up to the counter, tell them what kind of fish you want, and they pile it on a plate with lemons. Top it with one of a dozen condiments they have out and eat it right there.

Of course I had to stop for gelato. This was pistachio, but please note that it’s not fluorescent green. It actually tasted like nuts.

More international flavor.

The mulberry trees that grow all over New York are ripening right about now.

You can tell because the sidewalks below them are covered in dark purple polka dots.

After I picked a bunch it looked like I’d escaped the scene of a murder.

I brought a bunch home with the intention of making a pie, but I ended up eating them all.

More urban foraging.

It seems like there’s some ginormous neo-Gothic church on every other corner in Harlem. But I liked these little churches that are tucked into the blocks.

You’ll see a lot of the brownstone churches painted white like this to show where the sinning stops.

They all have really awesome handpainted signs and their own little character quirks.

The Church of the People had a nice yellow theme going.

This one was amazing, housed in an old stable.

I guess what they say is true: You really can find God everywhere.

More Harlem and elsewhere.

I swear, it was like a rainforest in Central Park yesterday.

Everything is blooming.

When the sun cut through the clouds the ground sizzled.

The Sheep Meadow was covered in hundreds of robins. All hopping around, chirping and snacking.

This guy came out looking for a snack, too. He was completely oblivious to my presence.

Afterwards I stopped by here to practice my new routine to “I’m Coming Out,” as usual. Later I was surprised to learn the story behind the Diana Ross Playground had to do with another rainy day in Central Park.

More supreme shots.

When I lived in Hollywood my address was followed by 1/2. Everyone always asked, what does that mean, you got half of an apartment? You know, like a John Malkovich kind of thing.

The houses located on Dennett Place in Carroll Gardens get full integer addresses, but half doors.

Are you just supposed to duck when you go through them?

Or are they secret portals that lead into another person’s subconscious? Thanks to Sarah for pointing out this small wonder.

More one-size-fits-all Brooklyn.