Victor Cafe: One of the most operatic dining spots in the aria

We always hear about the shiny, new food companies. The Spot is a series about the Philadelphia area's more established establishments and the people behind them.

Victor Cafe feels like an old-school South Philadelphia Italian restaurant, until a small bell rings.

It's the announcement of another aria, a 3-minute interlude during which one of the waitstaff transforms into a powerful performer, his or her voice saturating every corner of the small converted rowhome and enthralling the entire room.

That singular atmosphere caught the attention of Hollywood scouts, who decided to use it as the setting for a few scenes of Rocky Balboa (2006). The script originally called for a restaurant with a boxing theme, but when he arrived on set, Sylvester Stallone fell in love with the place and didn't want to change it. Instead, he adjusted the script so that the opera motif could stay. Earlier this year, Sly's production team returned - in the Rocky sequel Creed, due out Nov. 25, and the Victor Cafe reprises its central role.

Having live opera during dinner wasn't something the Victor Cafe owners planned. It came about organically, because music was essential to the restaurant's genesis.

John DiStefano arrived from Italy in 1908, and in 1918, opened a gramophone shop just off the corner of 13th and Dickinson. He sold the newly popular product of Camden's Victor Talking Machine Company - personal Victrolas - and the Victor records that played on them. South Philadelphia was full of recently immigrated Italians, and the shop became their hangout, where they would sip espresso and listen to their countrymen sing opera. DiStefano's reputation as a music expert grew, and famous opera singers began to frequent his store.

Then the Depression hit, and no one could afford to buy records. Rather than close, DiStefano kept his music playing, allowing people in the neighborhood to come and listen for free. If his wife happened to have made sandwiches, he served them, too.

When Prohibition ended, in 1933, he saw an opportunity to continue that, so he bought a liquor license and turned his record shop into a cafe. During dinner, he would sit in the back room and play opera records, and often, patrons would stand up and sing along.

When John died in 1954, his sons Henry and Armand took over the restaurant, and kept the music theme going. It wasn't until 1979, however, that a waiter who also happened to be an opera student decided to chime in with an occasional singalong. The next year another waiter with a voice joined the team, and he contributed to the live soundtrack.

Right around then, the restaurant scene in Philadelphia was beginning its first boom, and after Henry died in 1985, his wife and daughter Pamela made sure the Victor became known as the place with the singing floor staff. It remains so to this day.

In the '90s, Henry's sons Rick and Gregory DiStefano assumed most of the responsibility for running the joint. Rick acts as the Victor's executive chef and oversees operations. He doesn't exactly swoon for opera - for seven years he sang and played bass in a punk band - but he does have a fierce loyalty to family and tradition.

Over a plate of calamari fra diavolo (no cheese, please!) set atop a red-checkered tablecloth, Rick discussed what it's like to run a restaurant in Philadelphia these days, and how he held firm on the negotiations to use his spot as the set of a Hollywood movie. He also described plans to renovate, including turning the upstairs into a craft beer and wine lounge, and expanding the downstairs so that he can produce weekly one-act operas on a removable stage.

What's your first memory of this place?

Running up the stairs to the second floor as a young child - you know how when you're a little kid you use your hands to climb? It was a race to the top, because grandmom was there and she always had a bag of candy waiting. We were dragged down here since young. At 8 years old, I was standing on a wooden milk crate, washing dishes by hand.

You worked for your grandfather?

Well, my grandpop died before I was born - he died in 1954 and I was born in 1956 - but my dad and uncle had taken over. And even though my grandpop never held me, I knew all about him. From family but also from history books. He's mentioned a lot. You have to remember that Philadelphia was the nexus for opera in the West. The Met was here. This was the place. This is where you came to hear opera. If you were a big star in Europe, you aspired to come and perform in Philadelphia, not New York.

So this is where the big hangout was. As the pictures on the walls downstairs attest. Toscanini, Ezio Pinza, Jan Peerce, Mario Lanza, Marian Anderson. This was the place.

Do you love opera, seeing as you were raised in the middle of it?

Yes and no. There are still some pieces that'll make me shed tears, just thinking about it. But not in general. I mean, I had my own punk band for seven years in Los Angeles. I was the bassist and I sang.

When were you in California?

I grew up in Philly - went to Central - and when I was 12 I went to school in Italy for a couple years. After I came back, I worked here for a year and then left for California. I was there from '77 to '91. I opened up four restaurants, I did a year's stint as the chief baker on an oil tanker, I was a mover and shaker in the fledgling computer industry.

Were they Italian restaurants?

One of them kind of was. It was called an offshoot of a St. Louis place called Taylena's, which is Yiddish for Italian. It was billed as "L.A.'s only Jewish pizzeria." People used to come in and ask, what's a Jewish pizza? I'd tell them, "It's on rye crust and it costs $5 more."

Then there was Piglet Sandwich Factory, and something called Dr. Feelgood's Feast, in Santa Monica. That was like one of the first vegan restaurants - I don't think that word was around back then, but it was the strictest vegetarian for the time. That place became Noma sushi.

So are you in charge of the menu here?

I pretty much function as executive chef. I don't bang on the line anymore because of my age, but I'm down there expediting and prepping and teaching my recipes.

Has the menu changed a lot since your grandparents first started?

Not that much, actually. I know because around 20 years ago, I was in here tidying up, and and a little old question mark of a lady comes walking in. She says, "I wanted to drop off something. I'm Mazie. I was your first waitress." I said, "Yeah, I know, I've heard of you!" And I showed her a picture, right over there on the wall, she's standing there with my father. She handed me a manila envelope will all these old photos in it. Among the memorabilia was the very first menu from 1933.

What was on it?

On the back was a watercolor representation of the bay of Naples. On the inside, on the left-hand was the food, and on the right-hand side were the cocktails. And they're pretty much the same cocktails as we have today - Old Fashioned, Sidecar, Pink Lady, Manhattan, martini.

How much did they cost?

The most expensive thing was 75 cents. For filet mignon and potatoes. And the Victor's special lunch was like 15 cents.

How much is your filet mignon now?

It's $35. That's a steak anybody else would charge you $70 right now. But because of the way that I shop - I buy primal cuts - I can offer you a larger portion, for less money, and still make more margin, so that you've got happy, happy, happy, all the way down the line. The other thing is wine.

What about wine?

Some people out there are trying to make 300 or 400 percent markup. Maybe you can get away with it in Harrisburg or Pittsburgh, but not here. Because we're in the tri-state area, where people that are 5 minutes from us know where things really cost. Some places are charging $54 for a bottle of wine you can pick up on the street in New York for $11. So that means here we pay $17 or something, because we're in this [expletive] state. But the old rule of thumb for Philadelphia is twice plus a buck. I'm not adding value, c'mon. Oh, I gave you a glass. I moved a box.

What do you think of the East Passyunk restaurant boom - is it good for your business, people coming down here to dine?

Oh, I think it's wonderful. But I drive down Passyunk Avenue - what are we talking about, a hundred people? I mean, let's be real. When I was a kid, there were lines out this door stretching around the block to get in here. And I also remember weeks in the late '60s where we probably did 30 dinners for the entire week. So you're talking to somebody who's seen it all.

You're planning renovations?

We have these lounges upstairs. It's where you could wait for your invariably late table, and sometimes there's little get-togethers up here. I'm gonna add some taps and turn it into Upstairs at Victors. It'll be wine and craft beer, and a great little nosh menu. I'll have six to eight beers, whatever is the popular thing out there that the kids want - I'll undercut everybody.

Is that related to what you want to do downstairs?

No, separate. Downstairs, I'm going to break down the wall and make it one big split-level dining room. On Tuesday nights, I'll turn the back area into a stage. I want to produce 30 one-act operas a year. You'll have drinks and appetizers, then we'll do the first half of an opera - with sets and costumes - then you'll have dinner. Then we'll do the second half. Dessert will come up, cast will mingle. We'll have some more drinks. You're worried about work on Wednesday? You'll leave. Not worried about work, you can stay and close the place.

I'll be single-handedly responsible for revising the dying art of opera. I told WHYY they can film it and have it for free. Put it on the arts network or something. Everybody's interested in it. They're just waiting to see if I do it.

So, the Rocky story.

What it says on our website isn't really exactly how it went down. Back in 2005, some guy walked in and says, can I take pictures. I said, sure, what's this about. He said, we're scouting locations for a new Rocky movie. They were walking around looking for the iconic South Philadelphia restaurants. I think it probably shook out to be between Ralph's and us. But Sly really liked this place. So we got picked.

I was very firm on a number that I had in my mind. Having lived in L.A. for all those years, I know what they usually give a location, which is next to nothing. Had they represented it in the movie as the Victor Cafe, I would have had to do it for nothing. But I also know that film studios have money. So I was firm.

When it came time to shoot, I figured they would re-dress the place, make it unrecognizable. But because negotiations took as many weeks as they did... And then also because Sylvester fell in love with the restaurant. He changed the script sitting at the table. Because it was going to be called Rocky's Cafe. But then he throws out that maybe when Adrian was alive, she liked opera. So they called it Adrian's and pretty much left us alone. They decorated one back room with boxing stuff. So in the movie, it's very obvious that Adrian's is the Victor Cafe. You can't miss it. So that was good for us.

I was upset that we didn't get a credit - no thank you in the credits. This time around, in the new movie, I made sure it's there. "Thank you to the Victor Cafe." Listen, this place has nothing to do with me. I only care about it for what it already was before I ever showed up on the scene. That's what I respect, and that's what I think deserves to be kept alive.

The Victor Cafe

1303 Dickinson St., 215-468-3040

Hours: 5 to 10 p.m. Monday to Thursday, 5 p.m. to midnight Friday, 4:30 p.m. to midnight Saturday, 4:30 to 10 p.m. Sunday