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Restaurants |
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Q&A: Chef Rocco DiSpirito |
You’ve
heard about The Restaurant, airing in July on NBC. But what
about Rocco’s, the actual restaurant, opening this week
to those unafraid of being filmed while chewing? We checked in with
Rocco DiSpirito and his mother (and executive chef) Nicolina, to see
if they were ready for their close-ups. More important, are you?
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BY ROBIN RAISFELD
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New York: What’s
on the menu?
Rocco DiSpirito: The food I grew up with—lots
of authentic Campanian and Italian-American dishes—carciofi
fritti, steak alla pizzaiola, ricotta cheesecake, chocolate-chip biscotti.
We’re going to make spaghetti and meatballs really beautifully
with artisanal spaghetti cooked à la minute, and great meatballs.
My mom really will be making them—she has an apartment above
the restaurant.
What’s the secret to your meatballs?
Nicolina DiSpirito: You got to put love in the food—that’s
my philosophy.
Any other specialties?
N.D.: I can make a lot of stuff—I do whatever Rocco says.
Are there more DiSpiritos in the kitchen?
R.D.: Uncle Giuseppe’s going to make some wine for us;
his wife, Elena, will be making most of the fresh pastas; my aunt
Maria is a really good baker and also is really good at Parmigiana.
Her husband, Silvio, is also going to help out; he and Giuseppe get
together every year and make sausages.
So with all that talent around, why did it take you
so long to open an Italian restaurant, Rocco?
R.D.: When you grow up a first-generation Italian-American
kid and your parents don’t speak English, you grow up ashamed
of it. Now I realize that it’s a wonderful thing.
What did your mother teach you that Gray Kunz and the
CIA didn’t?
R.D.: The frittata. I still can’t do it the way she does;
I’ve stood next to her, learned it step by step dozens of times,
and she still does it better.
N.D.: He can make it—he’s very modest.
Then who’s really going to be in charge of the
kitchen?
R.D.: Well, I don’t know if you know Italian mamas. They
play dumb. Let’s just say she gets what she wants, and you don’t
even know what’s happening to you.
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From the June 9, 2003
issue of New York Magazine.
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