Instead, he sings on Fridays a few blocks away at Franco's High Note Cafe, usually the classic "Occhi di Fata." And sometimes, from behind his counter, he'll tell the story of one of his favorites, La Boheme.
His father, Lucio, born in Calabria, opened the shop in the fall of 1940, when Mancuso was 4.
An only child, Mancuso would play with the cans of peeled tomatoes like building blocks and watch his father baby-sit a 100-gallon vat on the stove in the basement, where Mancuso sometimes stays.
After high school, Mancuso worked with his father full-time, during the "the golden era" of the '50s and '60s, when, he says, people crowded the avenue, even on weekdays.
Mancuso's then made two vats of ricotta a day. Now it might be two a week.
For the most part, Mancuso's customers are "leftovers of the old families."
Like him. Like his customer, Jacovini. And he has no plans of leaving, even though Jacovini recently brought him an offer - his nephew wanted to buy the store.
Mancuso looked him in the eye and said, "I'm going to die here."
"He'll definitely die there," says Jacovini. "He's not going to go anywhere."
After Mancuso wraps Jacovini's twist of mozzarella and cured ham in white paper, he rings him up ($21.32) on the old cash register.
In comes another regular, wanting provolone to go with his roast beef cooking at home. He's followed by a young man wearing glasses, a new face.
He's looking for pepperoni, which he bought there a while ago, and loved. At least, he thinks it was pepperoni.
When Mancuso shows him a pepperoni, the young man shakes his head.
"It was tapered on the end," he tells Mancuso. "The casing had white on it."
Mancuso holds up a roll of salami.
"That's the stuff," the young man says, grinning. As Mancuso wraps it up, he grins back.
Contact staff writer Kia Gregory at 215-854-2601 or kgregory@phillynews.com.
