SHE’S A CHARACTER | Rosemary George, 62 | Vito and Nick’s Pizzeria

Rosemary George has done it all at Vito and Nick’s — the birthplace of Southwest Side thin-crust pizza.

Her father, Nick Barraco, owned the joint and he put her to work young. She chopped the peppers, ground the sausage, rolled the dough, made the sauce, ran the cash register and cleaned the tables.

On one fateful waitressing shift, she smashed a pizza tin over the head of a certain smart-aleck customer — and then married him.

So, don’t mess with her.

“When I’m crabby you don’t want to be around me. No, no, no, you don’t,” she says. “The kids always say when my eyes turn bright green walk out the door.”

Don’t worry, that’s the kind of rage George reserves for slacking employees and sassy grandchildren. It doesn’t last long. “I get my point across and then it’s over,” she says.

Regulars at the family pizza place at 84th and Pulaski know George as the affable caretaker of a family tradition — addictive cracker-thin pie, sweet sauce and tasty toppings that have spawned a fair share of imitators nearby.

Vito and Nick’s pie is as important to Southwest Side folks as much as Ike Sewell’s deep-dish casserole at Uno’s is to Chicago-style deep dish purists who don’t know any better.

A visit inside the unassuming blond brick pizza joint is like a time machine ride to the day the place opened.

All the decor — from the blue Christmas lights over the bar and original Old Style neon to the dark paneling and shag carpet on the walls — feels like June 25, 1964. Some of the regulars are even the same.

It’s like eating pizza in your buddies’ basement. Put it this way: Until the early 1990s patrons ate on napkins — plates were an unnecessary luxury.

And in the kitchen the rule is “too good is no good,” an axiom George learned from her dad.

“A few weeks before he passed away, my father said, ‘Doll, never, ever, change the quality of your food. … This works fine, don’t screw it up,” she said.

But that didn’t stop George from venturing to Paris a few years back to study cooking at Le Cordon Bleu. She learned to make a mean cannoli and any fancy French dish you want.

Against her father’s advice, George once put a tasty quail dish on special. “I’ve even put out a plate to show people what it looks like,” she said. “No one even tried it. Dad was right.”

As for George, well, she hasn’t changed much either. The 62-year-old is the same take-no-guff workaholic who spends more time slinging pies and chatting up regulars than she does at home. That’s because George considers regulars extended family and strangers long-lost cousins.

“Being there is like being at home. They’re family. They really are,” George says. “And if you walk in as a stranger, you’ll leave knowing several people. There’s no doubt in my mind.”

If you want one of her pizzas you’ll have to go there and pay with cash — Vito and Nick’s doesn’t deliver or take credit.

“My father always said, ‘If they like my pizza they will come to me.’” George said. “He’s right. They do.”

And if you want George to smile, ask for the quail.

[Thanks: http://www.suntimes.com]