And now, Ferdinando’s has closed. Last month its owner Francesco “Frank” Buffa announced the immediate closing of the 121-year-old focacceria on Instagram. This is a real loss. There are many “old school” Italian restaurants in New York City, but few Sicilian ones.

Between 1907 and 1910, my maternal grandparents came to American from small towns near Naples and settled in South Brooklyn. They spoke a Neapolitan dialect and, except for a few words, never learned to speak English. For reasons I do not understand, few in my family are deeply connected to their Italian roots. My parents, who experienced prejudice as the children of immigrants, made sure that my brother and I did not learn to speak Italian. My aunts and uncles did the same for my fourteen first cousins. We did, however, learn that we were “Nablidon”, the Brooklyn slang for Neapolitan, i.e. people who came from the area around Naples, Italy.

My grandparents raised eight children and one of them, my mother’s sister Anna, married a Sicilian-American – my godfather Chuck Ardito. (below – Anna and Chuck in the 1950’s)

He would take me and his son Joe to Ferdinando’s on the weekend, treating us to its great tasting rice balls and panelles. Joe and I were becoming little Americans and we never cared for my uncle’s favorite – the pani ca meusa – “vastedda” if you live in Brooklyn. We didn’t mind the bread and cheese, but the vastedda, baked veal spleen, was too much for us.

Chuck died while I was in high school, so my trips to Ferdinando’s ended, and I forgot about its existence.

In the early 1970s I worked for a while at International Longshoremen’s Association (ILA) Local 1814 office at the corner of Union and Court Streets. One day I went to lunch with some coworkers who suggested that we take a walk to one of their favorite places. It was Ferdinando’s!

When I entered the restaurant, I became dizzy and had a weird twilight-zone feeling that I had been there before. Suddenly, I remembered my trips with Joe and Chuck and the great tasting rice balls. I also remembered a bakery that I had long forgotten about. It was across the street and down the block from the restaurant. Customers lined up between kegs of rum along the wall on the left and display cases of cakes and pastries on the right to place their orders. What sweet joy.

Decades passed. My daughter wound up living on Henry Street near Union. So, I started bringing my grandson Nico with me to Ferdinando’s. One of the last times I was there, Nico, who was 5 years old, and I were standing at the counter getting six rice balls to go. When I went to pay, the counterman would not take my money, saying that they were already paid for. He looked over my shoulder and nodded. I turned and saw sitting at a small table near the entrance door Mr. Buffa and Vincent Raccuglia who had paid my bill. (I assumed this was his unspoken way of thanking me for some photographs I had taken of his family’s Court Street funeral parlor.)

I thanked Vincent, and as we were leaving, he pointed to Nico and said in a deep voice “Start him on the tripe.” – Frank (left) and Vincent –

***

Larry Racioppo returned to South Brooklyn in 1970 after two years in California as a VISTA volunteer. He took a course at the School of Visual Arts, began to photograph his family and friends, and has never stopped.  His latest book,  I Hope I Break Even, I Could Use The Money: Photographs from Aqueduct Racetrack 1972, was published by Blurring Books in 2024.