About Riccardo's Italian Restaurant

Riccardo’s Italian Restaurant began in 1974 by Salvatore Russo, who originally emigrated from Palermo, Sicily.  

My name is Vito Russo, his Son and current chef and owner.  Our shared love of food and cooking after 36 years has propelled Riccardo’s into a very successful local Restaurant and to this day, we still greet our customers with a smile. 

It is with great pride; yet humbleness, that I have the opportunity to share with you my story of Riccardo’s Restaurant.  I want our story to be forthright, truthful and as humble as the man that opened its doors, Salvatore, my Father.

It’s a story that comes from my heart and one that I’ve managed to put together the best I can from my some of my fondest and not so fondest memories that I’ve experienced while working with my father since I was a child of 13 years old.  I will try to relay the story the best I can from my recollections and my father’s memories.

In 1971 my father, Salvatore Russo boarded a plane set for NY.  After leaving his homeland of Sicily, Italy for the “American Dream”, he landed in JFK Airport with $50 dollars to his name.

He arrived on a 2 week Visitor’s Visa as a skilled cabinet maker and set his sights on finding a job. After tireless searching, he realized that there was no work to be had as a cabinet maker in the Sates so he found a job washing dishes in Queens NY in a small pizzeria. Progressing from there he eventually was trained as kitchen help and would also deliver pizzas on a bike. 

Salvatore would spend 7 days a week working full time in that pizzeria, where he also lived and would sleep at night in the basement. My father would become a skilled cook and pizza man as the years progressed and though he was young, he had drive and a dream. Working hard, Salvatore saved his money and set his sights on opening his own pizza place.

On July 12th 1974, my father, Salvatore Russo, celebrated his 25th birthday by opening Riccardo’s Pizza. It was located at its present location on 567 Lakehurst Road next to the old Cumberland Farms from which he rented and directly across from the Country Lakes entrance which still had dirt roads at the time.

Riccardos Restaurant was the only pizzeria in town at the time. The “original” Restaurant was built and secured on a $12,000.00 dollar loan which was acquired by my father.  It was only 900 square feet, held 15 customers at best at four tables, with one small pizza oven, a grill (which was only 1 1/2 feet long) and a wooden counter top (where hoagies were made) and a small refrigerator.

Most of the time he worked alone as a ‘One Man Operation’ making all the food by hand, from scratch, using only the finest ingredients and it showed.  His pizza and good Italian food became well known, along with his warm smile and pleasant demeanor, to which he still has to this day!

 A large pizza, at that time, could be purchased for $4.50.  Working long grueling hours, sometimes all by himself from 11am-12pm weeknights and 11am-1am weekends, he was never home.  Even as a child, I don’t recall him being home that much.

It was always understood in my house, as a child, that he was working at the pizzeria.  I never questioned it and I never asked why.

I remember seeing my father before I left for school every morning.  And even though he was always sleepy and groggy from the previous night’s work, he always managed to smile at me telling me to have a good day at school.  He was always gone by the time I came home, but he was a dedicated father who worked 24/7.

I looked up to him and wanted nothing more than to be like him when I grew up.  While the other children wanted to be policemen, firemen, doctors and lawyers when they grew up, I wanted to be a chef.  I wanted nothing more than to wear my fathers white cook’s uniform and be just like him.  After much pleading, he would eventually buy me my own white cook’s uniform with my name in embroidered on the chest.  (The kind you see on blue collar worker’s uniforms encircled with my name).

As a child, (around 10 years old) my Dad would reluctantly take me to Riccardo’s on the weekends when I would beg him.  My first jobs consisted of washing dishes and helping him make dough, sauce and grate cheese.  He would prop me up on a chair so that I could reach the counter and he’d show me how it was done.  Thereafter, I would soon graduate to standing on phone books until I was finally able to reach the counter tops by myself.

I was proud of myself, but more importantly, I was happy to spend time with my Dad.  He was my idol and I wanted nothing more than to make him proud of me.