Beyond the Brick Oven: The Sweet Side of Vecchia

I swear, some days I can tell what a customer’s going to order just by watching them walk through our door. The way they scan the menu, how their eyes linger on certain items—it’s like reading a delicious book. Today, I’m standing behind the counter at Vecchia, watching a family of four settle into their usual table by the window. Sunlight streams in, catching the smoke rising from our Acunto ovens.

“They’ll save room for dessert,” I whisper to myself, smiling.

Most folks know us for the savory side of things—Benard’s hand-stretched pizzas with those perfect leopard spots along the crust, the house-made mozzarella we pull fresh each morning, the sausage recipe that took my husband twelve tries to perfect. But I’ve always had a special place in my heart for our dessert menu.

The aroma of sugar and vanilla mingles with the wood smoke from our ovens, creating this perfect dance of scents that follows me everywhere. Even my clothes smell like it when I get home—sweet and smoky, like a campfire where someone’s roasting marshmallows.

I watch as our runner brings out a tiramisu to the table by the neon sign. The customer’s eyes widen at the perfect layers—espresso-soaked ladyfingers alternating with clouds of impastata ricotta. Not that grocery store stuff. This ricotta is imported, full-fat, and dense enough to stand a spoon in. It’s what makes our tiramisu float rather than sink.

“That’s the stuff dreams are made of,” I murmur, remembering how Benard insisted on using only the authentic cheese, even when it cost us triple.

The cannoli shells stacked and ready to be filled catch the afternoon light. Each one waiting to be filled with that same magical ricotta—some studded with chocolate chips, others with crushed pistachios that gleam like tiny emeralds. The contrast of the crisp, bubbled shell against the smooth filling creates this perfect textural symphony. Crunch, then melt. Crunch, then melt.

But my eyes always drift to the white chocolate bread pudding cooling on the rack. That’s Benard’s baby—born decades ago at Bernie’s Grill before Vecchia was even a twinkle in his eye. I watch him sometimes, the way he hovers over it, checking the color, the jiggle, the rise. It’s not traditionally Italian, but it bridges his Southern roots with our Italian heart. Imagine if crème brûlée and a doughnut had a love child—pillowy bread soaked in white chocolate custard until it transforms into something transcendent.

The bell above our door chimes as Kelvin from Ricky J’s Bakery backs in, carrying a tray of layer cakes. The Key Lime towers above the rest, its pale green frosting swirled into perfect peaks.

“Janice baked them fresh this morning,” he says, setting them in the case. The Southern-style cakes—Italian Cream, Strawberry, Red Velvet, Carrot, Chocolate—line up like beauty queens, each one more tempting than the last.

Al from The Italian Cookie Company arrives an hour later, bringing in boxes of fig cuccidati, anisette wedding cookies, and cherry almond biscotti. The anise scent hits me first—sharp and sweet, like my grandmother’s kitchen at Christmas.

“These just cooled,” Al says, opening a box of biscotti. Steam escapes, carrying that toasted almond fragrance that makes my mouth water instantly.

I glance over at the family nestled in at the big farm table. Their pizza plates are empty now, and the parents exchange that look—the one that says they’re about to cave.

“One Nutella pizza,” the father calls out, and the kids erupt in cheers.

I smile, nodding to our pizzaiolo who’s already reaching for the dough. In minutes, he’ll stretch it thin, slather it with Nutella, sprinkle it with marshmallows, and slide it into our 900-degree oven. Sixty seconds later, it’ll emerge transformed—the crust blistered and crackling, the Nutella molten, the marshmallows toasted golden and bubbling.

Yes, we’re known for our pizza. But the sweet side of Vecchia? That’s where the magic happens. Where tradition meets innovation, where Southern comfort meets Italian elegance.

And just like everything else we do—it’s made with love, flour-dusted hands, and a whole lot of heart.

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