The sons also rise at Sarcone's Bakery (the inquirer)


"In 1918, Luigi Sarcone started running a bakery in the basement of a rowhouse on Ninth Street, just north of the Italian Market and next door to Ralph’s restaurant, another long-running South Philadelphia business.

Sarcone eventually passed the bakery — which later moved upstairs — to his son, Peter, who then left it to his son, Louis Sr., who turned it over to his son, Louis Jr., now 54. The fifth generation, Louis 3rd, 30, runs Sarcone’s Bakery with his father.

The Sarcones — like the Dispigno/Rubino family that owns Ralph’s — have a long history on the block. Louis Sr., who grew up with his parents and sisters above the bakery, married Lillian Brodman, from Second Street, and they raised their son and daughter in Cherry Hill. After Lillian’s death in 2014, Louis Sr. moved back, to an apartment above the bakery. His daughter, Linda, who grew tired of life in New Jersey, lives across the street and works at the bakery. Up the block, Louis Jr. helped a first cousin, Anthony Bucci, open a deli, Sarcone’s, that closed last month."

Read the rest at

What Is Tomato Pie, Anyway? (Eater Philly)

"The bakery still uses the same recipe developed by Louis's great-grandmother. In typical nonna fashion, she had a small kitchen in the back of the bakery where she would simmer the gravy (it's always called gravy around these parts), top her round tomato pies, and place them in the bakery's window. But the pie has evolved over the years from that round form into a rectangular affair. "It was basically what people were asking for," Sarcone says of the shape shift. "Most pizza parlors that came to America, they were making the traditional round pie."

Read the rest on Eater Philly.

On Hoagies, Elections, and Food Writing (Bon Apetit)

But inside, it was business as usual—a refrigerated glass case filled with deep-pink cold cuts and yellow logs of provolone. A few employees behind the counter showered shredded iceberg onto splayed-open hero rolls from Sarcone's Bakery, dousing them with oil and vinegar.

Excited as I was by it all, it was clear to the young guy at the register, with his slick of black hair, that I was a rookie, struggling to get my order right. But like so many of the folks whose doors I knocked on, he was patient with me, plenty friendly.

Read the rest at Bon Appetit.