When I was a kid in South Philadelphia, pizza wasn’t an endless scroll of choices. It was a short list, and you knew exactly where your family went. For us, South Philly pizza memories always started with Cacia’s—Friday pizza and tomato pies, especially during Lent, were a real neighborhood routine you could set your week by.
And then there were the places that only made sense in a tight South Philly world—like Mrs. Valentine, who lived on Carlisle Street, making and selling pizzas right out of her house. We’d call her home phone, order a pizza or two, and run around the corner to pick them up.
“Pizza night” also meant neighborhood shops you didn’t overthink—Pizza Shack (The Shack), Celebre’s (we called it “Celebreeze”), Mara’s, and the walk to DiFabio’s at 12th and Snyder. Later on, pizza in the city changed the way the internet changed everything else—more choices than anyone could keep up with, new styles everywhere, and eventually the chains, too. But those early routines—Cacia’s on Fridays, Mrs. Valentine’s home phone, and DiFabio’s and the Shack —are still the ones that feel like home.
Key Takeaways
- We didn’t grow up with endless pizza options—sometimes the best “shop” was a house on Carlisle Street.
- The pizza truck was like Mr. Softee for slices: it stopped mid-block on side streets and people lined up—slices were probably a quarter back then.
- Celebre’s (“Celebreeze”) in Packer Park mattered because you could actually sit down and eat inside.
- Cacia’s Bakery tomato pies and pizza on Fridays—especially during Lent—were a tradition (and now Cacia’s is sold widely in supermarkets, including South Jersey, on Fridays).
- In Wildwood, I’d stop in to see my older brother at Mack’s—he was about 16 and I was about 10—spinning dough like it was the coolest job in the world.
- Pizza Shack (The Shack) was the first pizza place in our neighborhood—16th & Shunk originally, later moving to 15th & Porter, still in business today.
Mrs. Valentine on Carlisle Street: Pizza by Home Phone
Before apps and online ordering, we had something that feels almost impossible to explain today: Mrs. Valentine, who lived on Carlisle Street, used to make and sell pizzas right out of her house.
We’d call Mrs. Valentine’s home phone, order a pizza or two, and then run around the corner to pick them up. We’d bring the pizzas home and eat them like it was the most normal thing in the world—because it was.
No storefront. No delivery tracker. Just neighborhood trust, a familiar voice on the phone, and a warm box in your hands.
The Pizza Truck: Like Mr. Softee, but with an Oven
The other big neighborhood memory was the pizza truck. It was like an ice cream truck—like Mr. Softee—except it had a pizza oven inside and sold hot slices right out of the truck.
The slices were cheap—probably a quarter back then—and the truck would go up and down the small side streets in South Philly. It would stop right in the middle of the block, and people would line up for slices like it was the most normal thing in the world.
Celebre’s (“Celebreeze”) in Packer Park: Sit-Down Pizza
Another place that was huge for us was Celebre’s—we always called it “Celebreeze,” but it was spelled Celebre’s. It’s located in the Packer Park shopping center, and what made it feel special was that you could actually sit down and eat there.
In a neighborhood where so much pizza was takeout-and-go, having a place you could sit inside and eat a slice (or a pie) made it a real destination.
Fridays, Lent, and Cacia’s
Another memory that’s pure South Philly: Cacia’s Bakery pizza on Fridays, especially during Lent. That wasn’t just a meal—it was a tradition. It still feels like a very “Philadelphia” thing: a routine you could set your week by.
Cacia’s was also a place for tomato pies—the kind you brought home for the family. And look how far it’s gone: today, Cacia’s pizza is sold throughout the area, including South Jersey, in supermarkets on Fridays. But those older traditions—Friday bakery pizza, the familiar neighborhood routine—still have a different kind of weight.
Everybody Had Their Places: Napoli’s and DiFabio’s (1960s)
Everybody in South Philly had their favorite places. The “best” place wasn’t decided by reviews—it was decided by your family, your block, and your routine.
As I got older, when I was in high school at Bishop Neumann, we all sat in alphabetical order. My last name started with an “O,” and one of the kids a couple seats away—his family owned and operated Napoli’s, right at the point where 7th Street and Passyunk come together.
And then there was DiFabio’s—the old pizza place we’d go to once in a while at 12th and Snyder. This was in the 1960s. It was a little bit of a walk when it was cold out, but it was more than fine in spring, summer, and fall. The walk was part of it. You didn’t just “get pizza.” You went to get it.
The Jersey Shore Connection: Wildwood Summers at Mack’s
For me, pizza memories aren’t only South Philly. They’re also the Jersey Shore.
When we were kids, we’d spend summers in Wildwood, NJ, and one place stood out like a landmark: Mack’s Pizza on the boardwalk. That boardwalk slice wasn’t just food—it was part of the summer rhythm.
My older brother worked on the line at Mack’s. He was six years older than me—so I was about 10 and he was about 16—and I used to stop in and see him. He’d be spinning dough, ladling sauce, adding cheese—no fancy topping list, no endless combinations. Mostly pepperoni, maybe sausage, and that was plenty. I still remember watching him work the line like it was the coolest thing in the world.
We used to spend two weeks down the shore at my aunt’s house on Heather Road, just a couple blocks from the beach. We always went in August. My dad rented one of the two apartments connected to her home, actually on the first floor. Her house—typical of the old Jersey shore homes—started on the second level.
And we always went early in August, because I had to be back in time for football practice at “Johnson’s Field”—what we called it—but it was actually at 18th and Johnston Streets. It was also known as DV (Delaware Valley Youth Athletic Association), and it sat between 18th and 19th Streets and between Johnston and Bigler. That detail matters. The shore wasn’t separate from home—it was part of the same calendar and the same life, just with sand under your feet instead of pavement.
Even now, one of the big differences I notice is size. A lot of pizzas in the city and suburbs shrank over time—medium pies became the norm, and “personal” sizes got more popular. But shore towns like Wildwood (and Ocean City and others) held onto the classic: that big, boardwalk-style pie—often the full 18-inch experience.
Pizza Shack (The Shack): The First Pizza Place in Our Neighborhood
The Pizza Shack—what everyone called “The Shack”—was the first pizza place in our neighborhood. It originally started at 16th and Shunk, directly across from St. Monica’s School (near the bowling alley and gym). Business was strong, and it eventually moved to 15th and Porter Streets, where it remains in business today—one block from our house.
One of the clearest “local history” memories for me is strombolis—because in our neighborhood, strombolis weren’t always everywhere. Strombolis were introduced in South Philadelphia in the late 1970s by Chuck Forte, the owner of Pizza Shack. That’s where I first got introduced to them.
At first, strombolis were simple—cheese and pepperoni—and then they expanded: broccoli, spinach, and other fillings as time went on. Today, strombolis are everywhere. But for a lot of us, they started as a “Pizza Shack thing.”
Years later, my younger brother Billy, who is nine years younger than me (and 15 years younger than my older brother), worked there as a kid on Saturday and Sunday mornings, doing the early weekend shift making strombolis. Pizza Shack has always been takeout or delivery only—no sit-down—just a place that does what it does, and does it well.
From “Very Few” to “Every Four or Five Blocks”
South Philly and all of Philly have always had their favorite pizza shops, but when we were kids, there were very few places, except at the shore.
As the 70s moved on, we saw more and more pizza places open—almost on every four or five blocks. Then we saw the national chains come in—which was not anything we would frequent. It’s incredible what you see today. Pizza is a regular part of life.
The Next Generation: Ocean City, Playland, and the Too-Long Line
Now I get to see shore pizza through my grandkids’ eyes.
When they go to the shore, they love Mack and Manco’s in Ocean City—probably because they love the rides at Playland’s Castaway Cove. They have multiple locations. Great pizza. Still the 18-inchers.
Every time we go by Prep’s Pizza, the line is too long for grandkids to wait. And that’s the shore, too: the places people love always come with the price of patience—but not everyone has it when rides are calling.
South Philly Pizza Map Memories:
South Philly
- Mrs. Valentine (Carlisle Street) — call the home phone, pick up around the corner
- Pizza truck — like Mr. Softee, but with an oven; stopped mid-block on side streets for cheap slices (about a quarter)
- Celebre’s (Packer Park shopping center) — we called it “Celebreeze”; a go-to spot because you could sit down and eat inside
- Cacia’s Bakery — tomato pies and pizza on Fridays (especially during Lent); now sold widely in supermarkets, including South Jersey, on Fridays
- Napoli’s — at the point where 7th Street and Passyunk come together
- DiFabio’s — 12th and Snyder
- Pizza Shack (“The Shack”) — first pizza place in our neighborhood; started at 16th & Shunk across from St. Monica’s School, later moved to 15th & Porter (still operating); strombolis became a neighborhood staple
Shore
- Wildwood: Mack’s — watching pizzas spin; boardwalk tradition
- Ocean City: Mack and Manco’s — 18-inch pies; Playland’s Castaway Cove
- Prep’s Pizza — the line is the story
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Frequently Asked Questions:
Did people really order pizza from someone’s house?
Yes. Mrs. Valentine made and sold pizzas right out of her home on Carlisle Street. We’d call her house phone, order a pizza or two, then run around the corner to pick them up.
What was the pizza truck like in South Philly?
It was like Mr. Softee, but with a pizza oven. It drove the side streets, stopped mid-block, and people lined up for cheap slices—probably a quarter back then.
Why does shore pizza feel different?
Because it’s tied to rituals—boardwalk nights, big 18-inch pies, and returning to the same places year after year.
Where were Napoli’s and DiFabio’s located?
Napoli’s was at the point where 7th Street and Passyunk come together. DiFabio’s was at 12th and Snyder.
What was “The Shack,” and why was it such a big deal?
Pizza Shack—known as The Shack—was the first pizza place in our neighborhood. It started at 16th and Shunk across from St. Monica’s School and later moved to 15th and Porter, where it’s still in business today.
Where exactly was “Johnson’s Field,” and what was it also called?
We called it “Johnson’s Field,” but it was at 18th and Johnston Streets. It was also known as DV (Delaware Valley Youth Athletic Association), between 18th and 19th Streets, and between Johnston and Bigler.
