The bakery where South Philadelphia goes to cook their Thanksgiving turkey
The fourth-generation, family bakery slow roasts turkeys for the crowds who bring them by on Thanksgiving morning.
Come Thanksgiving morning, Sam and Joe Cacia, third- and fourth-generation owners of Cacia’s Bakery in South Philadelphia, will be right where they always are on Thanksgiving: hunched over the sweltering maw of their massive brick oven, cooking 90 — yes, 90 — turkeys.
That’s because the family bakery at Ritner and Mole Streets, known for its thick-crusted rolls and delicious homemade square tomato pies, is also home to one of South Philly’s more unique and enduring Thanksgiving traditions. For 70 years, Cacia’s has roasted turkeys for crowds of customers who bring them by on Thanksgiving morning.
Every year, the line stretches down the sidewalk, as the news crews film. Some in the neighborhood haul their holiday birds to the bakery in wheelbarrows and wagons. Others drive from South Jersey and the suburbs with thawing turkeys. All come seeking a spot in Cacia’s cavernous old-world oven, which is bigger than most South Philly backyards, and where, for $30, the Cacias slowly roast the turkeys to juicy perfection.
Customers swear by it.
“Every year, the turkey comes out delicious!” said John Iannarone, 77, who lives down the block on Mole, and has been bringing his turkey to Cacia’s for more than 30 years. “Whatever they do, it comes out right. All you have to do is shake the drumstick, and the meat comes right off, it’s that tender.”
And while the tradition only grows — last year, the Cacias cooked 145 turkeys, a new record — the day has long been a point of pride for the Cacias. By now, four generations of Cacia bakers — all of them named Sam or Joe — have worked the ovens on Thanksgiving.
The original Sam Cacia bought the corner bakery in 1953, after apprenticing with an Italian Market baker. A previous owner had installed the white-tiled, lava-stoned oven. Sam Cacia baked 18 hours a day, said his son, Joe Cacia, 78, who took over when his father died from a heart attack at the age of 47 in 1964.
“Seven days a week,” said Joe Cacia. “He never took a break.”
It started with Sam Cacia cooking a handful of Thanksgiving turkeys for neighbors who didn’t have the oven space.
“He charged them maybe a buck,” said Joe Cacia, of his father. “There was no advertising, it spread word of mouth.”
Soon, the lines were out the door.
“It got so big, the whole family would be here cooking the turkeys,” said Joe Cacia.
These days, Sam Cacia, 58, works the oven with his son, Joe, 29. They have their system. At 4 a.m., they crank the oven to 600 degrees, then let it cool, before giving it one last jolt of heat. Though lines form before dawn, no one ever gets turned away.
“We try telling them they don’t have to come so early,” said Joe Cacia.
Before going in the oven, each turkey is tagged and numbered (lest everyone go home with the wrong bird). Fat, stuffed ones go to the right in the oven, away from the powerful oven’s flame pipe. Smaller ones go to the left, where the stones burn cooler. To reach them all, Sam Cacia uses a 24-foot pizza peel. The hardest part comes when the turkeys need their foil removed, before going back in the oven. Timing is critical.
“I’m like the doctor,” said Sam Cacia, of maneuvering the turkeys. “And the other guys are like my nurses.”
The stone oven retains moisture, keeping the turkeys juicy. It doesn’t matter where the turkeys come from, the Cacias said.
“When we cook it, it’s going to taste like a million dollars,” Sam Cacia said.
By 2 o’clock, the turkeys are done, and ready to be picked up.
“I do enjoy it once everything is winding down, and I see that everybody’s happy and everyone’s turkey came out good,” Sam Cacia said. “I take satisfaction in knowing that everybody appreciates what we do here.”
Then, it’s time for the Cacias to go home to their own turkeys.
“I want to sit down, and I don’t want to move,” Sam Cacia said.