Brooklyn is bereft: After a century of serving up Italian staples, the third-generation owners of Carroll Gardens’ G. Esposito & Sons Jersey Pork Store bid the business goodbye on Monday.

Longtime customers and fans of the beloved butcher did not let the iconic local shop go quietly. Its final days in business were a tear-soaked celebration of the Esposito family’s commitment to keeping the neighborhood well fed since 1922. 

“I think they’re shocked at how many people have come by and expressed their gratitude and given them gifts and cried,” Frank Esposito, son of co-owner John Esposito, told The Post. “You don’t see places that last that long anymore.” 

The shop — started by Frank’s great-grandfather shortly after he immigrated to New York from Naples, Italy — weathered an immense amount of change in the brownstone-belt neighborhood. 

Despite the rise, fall, then meteoric rise of the area’s real estate market — plus more than 10 mayors, shifting swine supply chains (in the early days, it was all sourced from New Jersey, but today it comes mostly from the Carolinas) and, recently, a large influx of French expats to the historically Italian nabe — the pork store has maintained its place. 

The secret to its success is hardly classified: Outstanding food and service from familiar faces. 

After a sign announcing the end discreetly appeared in the shop’s 357 Court St. window last month, patrons inundated John and his younger brother, George Esposito, with gifts, letters of thanks and enormous orders so they could continue enjoying Esposito-quality dishes even after the store was no more. 

“Customers bought shrink wrap machines and bought 20, 30, 40 pounds of sausage because, you know, [our sausage] is one of the things that no one can compete with,” George told The Post. 

Others purchased trays upon trays of their eggplant parmesan — “insane amounts.”

The store’s longest-time customer, a 95-year-old woman named Rita who went to school with the brothers’ late father and has been shopping there “her whole life,” bought a little bit of “everything” to keep the taste alive after the awning is gone. 

One thankful fan had a cake “handmade by some fancy place” for them that measured around 5-feet-long and 3-feet-wide. “It’s like the biggest cake you’ve ever seen in your life,” said George.

The most meaningful parting gifts he received, though, were the thank you notes from area residents.

“I got letters from people who bought brownstones in this neighborhood just because of us,” said George, tearing up. “People said, ‘You know, I wasn’t sure if I was gonna make an investment in the area, I shopped at your store once, then said I have to buy in this neighborhood, cause Esposito’s is here.’”

The reason for the closure is not the classic tale of being displaced by rising rent, but one of age. George is in his 60s, his brother John in his “upper 60s” — and, having not pressured the kids into inheriting their legacy, they didn’t find anyone worthy of carrying on the family legacy.  

Some contenders were “scared away” by the amount of work the butcher requires to run; others had the money to buy it, but lacked the love. 

“You gotta have a soul in this business. I can’t just hand you the keys,” said George.

George feels confident he made the right choice in protecting his family name, but closing still feels like “leaving a second family” of the countless customers he’s had over the years. 

As for what’s next, three authors have approached him about working with him, and everyone is asking for his rice ball recipes, so he suspects a cookbook is in his future. 

George added, “I’m actually gonna get to go to family functions on Saturdays and Sundays.”

And the store’s pig statue mascot will live on, not at this Court Street post he’s maintained for decades, but in Red Hook, at the firehouse the Espositos donated him to. 

Overall, the end has been bittersweet, the deluge of appreciation tough to take in. 

“I couldn’t have asked for a better way to go out,” said George. “I don’t think any business could’ve had a sendoff in Brooklyn like Espositos had a sendoff.”