Roses and stretch down the banquet table like a Renaissance still-life, stitched together with bunches of red grapes and branches of cumquats. In this warm-hued room lined with art, where white-jacketed waiters tend their guests like devoted gardeners tend roses, the illusion you’ve arrived in Italy for the evening takes firm hold. Such welcome deception is, of course, what – this legendary restaurant in Sydney's Paddington – has been succeeding in .
The opulent flowers are just for tonight, though. Because tonight is a bittersweet farewell to founding chef, . Here to witness the gentle passing of the restaurant into the hands of Percuoco’s head chef are a few of Sydney’s restaurant legends, the old and new fooderati, and some rusted-on Ricordo regulars.
They’re all here to mark Percuoco’s incredible legacy as he abdicates to Wright, whose own Sicilian heritage nests neatly inside walls. Wright has spent half his life under Buon Ricordo’s roof and is like a son to Percuoco, so much so that Wright’s children call him grandfather. And as with all good familial traditions, Wright will honour what has come before. “I wanted to take my pictures down,” says Percuoco, referring to his portraits on the restaurant’s walls. “But David told me, no.”
Most restaurants that change hands are gutted entirely by their ambitious new chefs, in both interior and character. But to do this to Buon Ricordo would be akin to repainting the . Wright knows this well. He’s not only sensitive to the legacy, but humbled by it. Where Percuoco might call Buon Ricordo old-fashioned, Wright calls it classic and he’s not about to sous-vide its reputation and serve it on a bed of sea foam. “For me, it’s about assuring our regulars we are going to continue to do what we’ve always done,” says David.
The lavish setting for this major Buon Ricordo milestone. Source: Buon Ricordo
To the relief of regulars, the fettuccine al tartufovo is staying firmly put, as will many of the best-loved classics. Still, David is an inspiring chef in his own right, and while much of the menu has already benefitted from his craft, the new, seafood-loving owner will start to become a little more heavy handed with the Sicilian influence that shaped his own culinary memories.
While the menu at Buon Ricordo has always been impeccable under Percuoco’s exacting palate (“If something’s not right, I scream,” he says with a laugh), it’s not the food alone that has kept this Naples-born chef in business for so long. As he reiterates countless times as we chat about his departure, sternly tapping his pointer and index finger on the starched tablecloth for emphasis, “without the customer, we are nobody”.
Percuoco has in the business for 58 years, running two highly acclaimed restaurants (Pucinella, which he opened in 1979, was Percuoco’s first great success), so when he has something to say, you lean in closer. , who says he would’ve been a fool to retire any earlier, has seen a lot in his tenure. His passion for the business has led him, by his admission, to butt heads with some journalists over the years. But it has also made his restaurant hum with the halcyonian energy of what fine dining once meant.
Good service and pasta are the lifeblood of Buon Ricordo. Source: Buon Ricordo
“My family have been in the restaurant business for five generations and they told me since I was 14, ‘the customer is everything’,” Percuoco says, his fingers tapping out each word. “If a customer wants a well-done steak, I give it to them. How dare I be so arrogant to change the life of a person who, for 20 years, has eaten well-done steak. It’s stupid.
“The amount of times I hear some idiot chef say, ‘no, I don’t give well-done steak, because, I’m a chef.’ No, you’re not a chef, if you’re a chef, you do anything for the customer,” says Percuoco.
He is unapologetic, and after five decades expertly tending the needs of his diners he has the right to be so. He has no time for chefs who strive for celebrity above service, share plates are not for him, he feels diners are too preoccupied with their phones, and he doesn’t understand why waiters in “running shoes and jeans” need to feign a close friendship in order to serve him.
My family have been in the restaurant business for five generations and they told me since I was 14, ‘the customer is everything’.
But don’t mistake this for someone who has lost touch with the industry, it’s the contrary. “You can’t be an old fart in the restaurant business,” Percuoco says. “Of course, I want to go to those places where it’s easy and there’s one plate and one set of cutlery, but sometimes I want to go to a proper restaurant where I’m looked after.”
The art of the service is the whole industry to Percuoco. When he speaks of that nightly choreography, it’s almost romantic. His stories, delivered draped in a Neapolitan accent, offer a glimpse into his longevity as a restaurateur. There’s the evening staff meal where the waiters are briefed on the proclivities of certain diners and the chefs berated if the meal is off the mark. There are the regulars who’ve been coming each week since opening, and whose children and grandchildren still come. And there’s the diner given a compulsory invitation to the door when they treated a waiter poorly.
All these nuances of service might have never made it to Australia. Percuoco thought his father quite mad when he announced he was leaving for the other side of the world – he had no inclination to leave his beloved Naples and follow. But a year later, circumstances saw Percuoco pack up and head Down Under.
Armando Percuoco on the momentous night. Source: Buon Ricordo
“My father knew Australia was a beautiful country. He had the vision.” Percuoco says his father saw the opportunity to carry on the restaurant business in a foreign land, away from the and the Mafia that beset Naples in the ’70s. Coming to Australia meant an unparalleled freedom from corruption, even if you had to buy olive oil from the chemist and the bread was so soft you could make sculptures with it.
In those days, Australia’s culinary achievements went as far as pavlova (still hotly contested) and a keenness to barbecue everything to the point of undeterminable origins. Percuoco remembers having to convince his greengrocer to sell him zucchini flowers rather than toss them out, and how his Italian peer, chef , once told him that his customers thought mussels grew on trees. But these challenges were minor compared to the Camorra, and Percuoco soon fell in love with his adopted homeland.
You can’t be an old fart in the restaurant business. Of course, I want to go to those places where it’s easy and there’s one plate and one set of cutlery, but sometimes I want to go to a proper restaurant where I’m looked after.
He’s grateful to Australians for their willingness to embrace Italian cuisine and is proud of the calibre of chefs and produce now available here. “I used to say, we are the poor cousins of Italian cuisine. I don’t say that anymore. We are better,” says Percuoco.
Back at Buon Ricordo as Percuoco is farewelled, his guests take it in turns to share their bei ricordi (good memories) of the restaurant and its first chef. Ever the gracious host, even when the guest of honour, Percuoco makes sure he is served last and takes time to personally thank everyone who shares his table. When asked his secret to staying in such a fickle business for so long, he replies, “Well, from the start, I made a deliberate effort not to be trendy.”
He laughs, but 31 years (and counting) of Buon Ricordo tell him that, really, that’s the key. Butchers’ tiles, share plates, and waiters in running shoes may come and go, but feeling truly welcome transcends trend.
108 Boundary Street, Paddington, NSW, (02) 9360 6729
Thursday, Friday - Saturday 12pm – 3pm
Tuesday - Saturday 6pm - 11pm
