Two years ago, thanks to the owners of Dolce Café in New Canaan, I discovered an artisan whose love and passion you can taste in every one of his baked goods.
You have to understand: coming from Bucharest, I’m a little spoiled. Great pastries, beautiful coffee shops, restaurants that take craft seriously. So, in my first two years traveling to the U.S., I kept missing a place like the one Pierluigi created.
We met him at his very first location, back when he only handled deliveries for orders placed online. Lucky for us, he soon opened the Westport gem we now return to whenever I feel the blues of being far from my go-to places in Bucharest. You can read kindness and humbleness on Pierluigi’s face — which is probably why we became friends so easily.
I’m grateful he took the time to answer my questions. And believe me, he carries a lot on his shoulders: a bakery that can barely keep up with demand, a four-day panettone, a newborn daughter, and a stubborn, beautiful refusal to do any of it the fast way.
This is the story of a man from Ischia who believes in real things.
You grew up on Ischia, where your father fished for a living. What did “fresh” mean in your house — and how does a kid who watches fish come off the boat in the morning end up falling in love with flour?
I think when I was living there, I took a lot of things for granted. Now that I live abroad, I’d say I was spoiled back then, because I had the privilege of eating fresh fish every single day. The love of baking came so naturally to me. There’s no way you can’t fall in love with food if you’re Italian — it’s more than culture and passion. It’s in our blood before we’re even born, lol.
You started baking at twelve. Do you remember the first thing you made that you were genuinely proud of? Who tasted it?
My mom used to bake occhi di bue — shortcrust cookies filled with local apricot jam and Nutella. I made the pasta frolla with her, and I remember the whole house smelling amazing!
“Fatto a Mano” — made by hand. Why those words?
Because as an artisan, I’m proud to show people that even though the world is evolving toward automation and robots, there’s still someone like me who believes in real things.
There’s a moment in your story I keep coming back to: the pandemic, a tiny oven, neighbors asking for bread. When did you realize this wasn’t a side project anymore — and what did take that leap feel like?
I had this dream, and it’s slowly shaping into something even better than I imagined. When I started, I felt like I was going through a risky phase. I didn’t want to disappoint my wife, but I also believed I could get to where I deserved to be. I realized it when people became my customers and gave me the support I needed to keep going.
Everything you make is naturally leavened — no shortcuts, no stabilizers. In a culture obsessed with speed, what has a sourdough starter taught you about patience? About attention?
If you work with sourdough, you seriously can’t look at the clock. The reason is that sourdough doesn’t care about your time — it’s a living, natural creature that works best with time. So, patience is the first ingredient you need to make it work.
Is there a smell or a sound in the bakery — the ovens before dawn, a loaf coming out — that still stops you, even after all these years?
The most exciting thing for me is when the panettone comes out of the oven and gets hung upside down.
Italians from Ischia who now live around Norwalk have told you your food brings them instantly back to their childhood. What is it like to hand someone a piece of their home across a counter?
It’s an honor to know that somehow, I can make people feel happily nostalgic for the food we grew up with in Italy.
You’re dreaming of wine and cheese tastings, maybe more locations — while insisting on “expanding without ever losing quality.” What’s the non-negotiable? What would you never automate, no matter how big this gets?
The quality of our products can’t be compromised. The business is growing because the quality is still there, and people come from everywhere to try us. Realistically, I could expand much faster if I automated and took shortcuts on everything we now do by hand — but then it wouldn’t make sense to me to keep doing this, because there wouldn’t be the same pride and excitement of having created something real from scratch. My baking team is also made up of very passionate, talented bakers who are constantly trying to improve every day.
When you call your family on Ischia and tell them about all of this — the award, Martha Stewart, the lines out the door — what do they say?
My family and friends are very proud of my achievements. Someday, though, I’d like to thank them for having given me the appreciation I needed to get here.
What brings you the biggest joy these days?
My newborn daughter is the happiest part of my days. I want to enjoy watching her grow as much as I possibly can.
When I miss Bucharest we drive from New Canaan to Westport, order something delicious, and for a moment the homesickness lifts. That’s the quiet magic of what Pierluigi does — he’s handing people a piece of where they come from, across a counter, made by hand.
And this is why I do what I do. Pierluigi’s is about a twelve-year-old on an island who fell in love with making things by hand, refused to do it the fast way, and crossed an ocean to build something true. That’s the heartbeat of “What’s Your Real Story?” and of everything I’m building in the Blagasphere — a space for people brave enough to become who they really are.
So, if you find yourself in Westport from Wednesday to Sunday, go to Fatto A Mano. Order a cornetto or the panettone if it’s the season. And if you see Pierluigi tell him a friend from Bucharest sent you.
Because the best stories are always fatto a mano — made by hand.
“What’s Your Real Story?” is coming soon — conversations with people brave enough to become who they really are. Follow along in the Blagasphere so you don’t miss the first one.