On the side of a typical row house on a quiet corner of Belmont, there is a concrete staircase that leads to a basement door. Atop the door is a neon red sign with cursive letters that reads “Chiocca’s” on an upward slant.

There is a chalkboard resting against the wall just as you walk in that says: “Save gas. Walk to Chiocca’s.” On a hazy summer evening, it’s quiet outside — until you swing the door open and walk inside.

The interior is dark, but familiar and cozy. It’s the kind of place you’d want to get caught during a snowstorm. The walls are covered with wooden planks, old signs and Chiocca family photographs. The tables sit close together, although a bit of excess walking room along the side suggests large parties have pushed them together.

There are three round tables just within the door, where six gentlemen sit smoking, each with just one elbow planted firmly on the table, and making important decisions.

At the bar, which is no more than a foot from one of the round tables, a stray from the group gladly accepts a crisp pickle wedge from the waitress. Wearing a red shirt as bright as the neon sign out front, he leans forward, puts the pickle to his mouth and asks the waitress for a light. She gives him a sideways, tolerant smirk, which eventually turns into a smile. She knows him well. Everyone knows Ross.

At one of the booths, there is a man in khakis and a pressed shirt, watching the Olympics and thumbing through the paper. He stands up and walks to the bar. Poised to ask for a pen to do the crossword puzzle, the waitress is already testing a black Paper Mate on a scrap of paper to ensure it works.

The waitress — Katrina — just started working at Chiocca’s again this week. She worked there for two years before moving to Austin, Texas, for a short while. As soon as she made her way back to Richmond, she also made her way home to Chiocca’s.

Katrina turns around to relay an order to the deli cook. The thin, young man with thick, impressive dreadlocks works the 16-bin deli bar like the stops on a pipe organ — never missing a note. He’s quick and familiar with his instrument. While three paninis heat in the grill, he stands and flips his spatula around and around, waiting for his next order — dying for a challenge. His name is Dennis, and he’s been working at Chiocca’s for “a few years.”

Sitting on tall stools at the bar, slightly pinned in by the group of roundtable decision-makers, two young hipsters enjoy tall beers, cold sandwiches and conversation, their sneakers just grazing the floor as they chat.

According to owner Timmy Chiocca, this scene is typical.

“We’re on our third generation of regulars now,” he says. “You have a 65-year-old guy sitting next to a 25-year-old guy.”

But more importantly, no demographic is vying for exclusive territory; everyone gets along. While the rest of the world openly struggles to reconcile the coexistence of Millenials and Gen X with Boomers, Chiocca’s has somehow got it all figured out.

Perhaps no one is laying claim to the Richmond landmark because it’s just too good not to share.

Chiocca’s father, Mario, opened the downstairs deli in 1952, but the family has been in the restaurant business in Richmond since the 1890s, when they owned and operated a couple of restaurants in the Bottom.

In fact, Mario and his three brothers ran a popular bar at 4th and Franklin in the 1950s, but eventually went in their separate directions, each to open their own restaurant. Chiocca’s is now the last of the family’s establishments still up and running.

Timmy, his sister Carla and their cousin Susan now all work long hours at the restaurant, and wouldn’t have it any other way.

“It’s hard work,” Timmy says. “But it’s gratifying for people to say it’s the best sandwich they’ve ever had.”

Chiocca’s serves Thumann’s deli meats and cheeses and the freshest vegetables, and offers some of the most creative sandwiches imaginable. And while the cold sandwiches are undoubtedly refreshing, there is something magical about Chiocca’s grill.

Timmy’s father bought the grill used from a distributor in New Jersey in 1952, which means the equipment is more than half a century old. “Lil Peggy,” they’ve nicknamed her after Timmy’s mother. A small box with a hinged door on the front, it’s a far cry from any restaurant grill you’d see today.

But it makes some of the best sandwiches in town. And three generations of regulars are all in agreement on that.

DELI SPECIALS
All-day Tuesday
and everyday
deli specials
$2.20 BOTTLED
BEER SPECIALS
Mondays:
Bud/Bud Light
Tuesdays:
Coors Light
Wednesdays:
Miller Lite/
High Life
Thursdays:
Yuengling/
Rolling Rock
STELLA BLUE
FRIDAYS
Stella Artois and
Blue Moon $3

MONDAY
NIGHTS
$2 off ALL
large pitchers
LIVE MUSIC ON
WEDNESDAYS
Roth Rose
7pm-10pm

Chiocca’s | 425 N. Belmont | 355-3228
WEB | www/chioccasdownstairsdeliandbar.com

I’ve been heading down to Chiocca’s on and off since around 1982, when a friend I was visiting from out of town took me there. It was August, 100 degrees in the late morning. Sipping on an ice-cold Bud and leaning on that ancient ice-cold marble booth table was pretty close to heaven--I thought.
Then Mr. Chiocca (I think his name was Andrew) walked up to the table. My friend told me to ask him for a menu, which I did. He promptly replied, “You’re looking at him!”
A few moments later my sailor sandwich arrived to confirm Chiocca’s heavenly status. The place was simply in a state of grace!
I ended up spending most of the next decade down in Hampton Roads, and didn’t get the chance to get back to Belmont until well into the 90s. I heard Mr. Chiocca had died, and was very sad. That lunch way back in 1982 remains one of my fondest memories of Richmond.
Chiocca’s still makes the BEST sailor sandwich in Virginia--not just Richmond.
I gotta get back over there soon!
JRS

There’s no real description here of the grilled sandwiches themselves, which are the very best cold-cut sandwiches available in this city.  The quality meats. The burnt cheese edges. The love. 

Mr. Chiocca has attained a level of sandwich mastry that few in this world will ever achieve.  As with any true artist, his hands are merely the conduit through which some higher power makes us sandwiches.  A higher power that mortal man can never truly understand.