“I apologize if I seem too focused — I don’t want to seem rude, it’s just that…” Alessandro Ancona gestures to his Margherita coming to life; the picturesque pizza worth a “mille” (thousand) words. “I cannot let myself become distracted,” the soft-spoken chef smiles apologetically. That’s one of the few times Ancona fully turns toward me, his focus on the food at his blurring hands… but that’s likely where true customers want their beloved chef’s attention to be. Ancona was born and raised on the island of Sicily, and now at his Picciotto Sicilian Street Food and Cafe, he serves up unrelentingly traditional, freshly-made and delectable food seemingly heaven-sent from the ball on the toes of the Italian peninsula’s boot to the northeastern corner of Queens, steps from the Douglaston stop of the LIRR Port Washington line.
“When I was in the military [back in Sicily], I was one of the smallest guys,” grins the 5-foot-6, slim-built 46-year-old veteran, who entered service due to Italian conscription laws (abolished New Year’s Day 2005). “So the others in my unit began calling me picciotto” — a diminutive moniker for a little boy of intrepid character — “and I’ve kept the name with me since.”
Before Picciotto came to be, when Ancona was a young picciotto himself in his Sicilian seaside hometown of Castellammare del Golfo, he harvested Castelvetrano olives and milked goats and sheep on his family’s farm. He would then cold-press the fruits of his labor into extra-virgin olive oil and culture the liquid white gold into cheese. After nation-trotting around the Italian mainland’s cities of Florence and Bologna and back to Sicily for a restoration of his homegrown inspiration, Ancona set out for the familiar city hubbub of Manhattan’s Finance District, which mirrored the enthralling bustle of Sicily’s Palermo, and successfully ran a food truck on Wall Street hawking many of the staples he features today. Desiring a return to the quaint cafe setting of his home, the island hopper finally settled in the practically Long Island hamlet of Douglaston with Picciotto, at which he is the owner, manager and executive chef.
“Our quality is beyond amazing, as we get all our products from Sicily and Italy,” attests waitress and occasional aiuto-cuoco (sous-chef) Margherita Maschio, as she prepares an order of cime di rapa con salsiccia, or broccoli rabe with sausage. She and her family started off as customers at Picciotto, and when Ancona learned of her name — “Just like the pizza!?” he reportedly exclaimed — Maschio had solidified her spot on Picciotto’s four-person team.
Attention to detail lives in Ancona’s food through carefully chosen ingredients. “I use the ankle of the prosciutto leg; it is sweeter than its thigh,” he passionately explains as Maschio raises her quadriceps for clarification. Ancona designed his menu with popular “street foods you’d find at a hawker stall.” Customary customer favorites include his signature arancini, rice balls done (and pronounced) the Sicilian way: comprising arborio rice and formaggio mozzarella like the Romans’, but with the added twists of ground beef and green peas. Diners can choose from a staggering selection of 14 pizzas, five pasta dishes, 10 paninis and much more. Try delicacies like the salmone affumicato (smoked salmon) or prosciutto pizzas, gnocchi al forno or bucatini ai formaggi pastas, or sausage and pepper panini, but definitely finish off with some homemade cannoli, tiramisu or gelato. Mango is my favorite.
Picciotto’s clever layout invitingly corrals customers past the glossy-red brick pizza oven fueled by furiously smoldering quarter-split oak logs and filled with pizzas and cast-iron skillets. Shinily spotless stainless-steel bins boasting vibrant fresh-sliced tomatoes, mozzarella and soppressata decorate the marble countertop lightly dusted for all of eternal perpetuity with soft-wheat low-protein flour. Exposed bricks continue to the dining room, guided by pleasantly gelato-colored walls adorned with Sicilian maps and art, as well as hanging plants. Turquoise doors help you believe you’re indeed in small-town Sicily before the food successfully convinces you. The secretless display reveals all of the magic, and a glass faceguard doesn’t filter the joy from Ancona’s face, mirroring the happy customers on their way in and happier customers on their way out. Dean Martin’s baritone cover of “Volare” spills from the restaurant stereo with mutual passion, adding to the culinary symphony that already fills your other senses.
John Valenza’s Sicilian expat parents bore and raised him in America — the latter on his homeland’s customary fare — was enjoying an oreganata (tomato sauce, anchovies, red onions, pecorino cheese and oregano) accompanied by similarly brick oven-roasted cime di rapa con salsiccia and a glass of Nero D’Avola Frappato red wine. He and his family ran The Proof of the Pudding and The Palace Restaurant eateries for decades located in Midtown East Manhattan, which flaunted a classic French cuisine-inspired menu influenced by his family’s Sicilian heritage, and contributed decades of experience to his encyclopedic foodie knowledge. What does he call the golden arancini? “Classic.” They have the perfect amount of outer crunch, and inner gooeyness moist with flavor.
“My cafe’s strictly, authentically Sicilian, because that’s who I am,” Ancona beams. This is the restaurant you’ve always been looking for, or will be seeking now, with all your “cuore.” At Picciotto, one can always find brunch and/or dinner, and a show d’amore; of love, from Sicily.
