Art of the pizza pie: Vinnie mastered his palate

The maestro is no more.

For more than a half-century, Vincent Chianese kneaded the dough, flung it effortlessly toward the ceiling then slapped on it enough ingredients to comfortably satisfy the collective appetites of a mid-sized military battalion.

He did so all the while with his trademark cigarette dangling precariously from his lips.

Chianese, the founder of Vincent's Pizza Park on Ardmore Boulevard in North Braddock and several franchise locations, died last week at the age of 85. He had been in declining health after selling the business he began in 1950 about five years ago.

Friends and former employees will gather at the pizzeria today from 4 to 9 p.m. to toast his memory and -- let's be honest -- probably indulge in a piece or two of his famous pizza.

"We've lost a legend," said Nina Burdell, 44, one of those former employees and North Braddock council president. "He was one of those larger-than-life figures who doesn't come around very often."

True enough. Half of the fun in patronizing Chianese's roadshack-style restaurant was observing him work, all the while wondering when his cigarette ash would succumb to gravity's pull and become an unordered extra on the pie.

Watching Chianese make pizza was similar to watching colorful Pittsburgh traffic cop Vic Cianca -- another local legend who recently passed away -- theatrically motion vehicles through Downtown intersections back in the '70s and '80s.

With both men, you quickly realized you were watching masters of their crafts, artists at the peak of their professions.

Although scores of loyalists will insist a Vinnie's pie remains the best in town, for many people it remains an acquired taste.

What set Chianese apart from his competitors was not necessarily the quality of his creations so much as their sheer density. If other places provided Hyundai-sized helpings of whatever toppings were ordered, Vinnie's toppings were monster truck-sized by comparison.

Burdell's family knew Chianese long before he arguably became Western Pennsylvania's most recognizable pizza personality.

"We knew him when he was a fireman with the railroad, before he saved his money and bought that (Ardmore Boulevard) property," Burdell said. "He was always Uncle Vince to me."

Chianese was well-known for his gruff, off-color demeanor, but he didn't display it around Burdell.

"Because he knew my dad, when I worked for him he never swore in front of me," she recalled. "Out of respect for my family, when he wanted to do that, he'd send me to the back of the restaurant -- and I was around 25 at the time."

Chianese became a success despite never advertising his product, never offering home delivery and never catering to a lunchtime crowd. Burdell has a theory how.

"He might not remember your name," she said. "But if you were a regular, he'd always remember what you liked on your pizza."

For Chianese, a more fitting epitaph would be difficult to find.