Gaspard Lorito, owner of Lorito’s Italian Kitchen, fed me in more ways than one.

He made me lots of pizza pies — extra-cheese with paper-thin crust — for more than 40 years. He also gave me a reason to believe I would survive middle school, followed by high school and college. More on that later. But, my best gastronomical memories of Gaspard’s meals occurred when I was married and very pregnant. Sweet Italy! I could’ve had his food for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Actually, I think I did on most days.

“Mrs. ah-Mangan!” he’d yell in his still-thick Italian accent across the counter while sliding a fresh dough of deliciousness into the oven. “Would you like your usual?”

To which, I’d nod then slide into my booth, second from the front door. I knew better than to claim the third booth; that belonged to Patsy King, who ate lunch there every day with her magazines and newspapers in hand. We were regulars, Patsy and I, along with many others.

Two things happened recently: (1) Gaspard died after a life long and well lived, and (2) another local restaurant, The Mojo Grill & Catering Co., announced their expansion with a fourth restaurant in this area. Both reminded me of the power of being local. Of mom-and-pop businesses thriving. Of a sense of place where, yeah, sure, everybody knows your name, but, importantly, they know your order. Above all, they know you.

It took me years before I realized the best part about Lorito’s was Gaspard, not the pizza. This gregarious Italian chef made me feel like family from the first time I walked into the tiny restaurant located in a strip mall on a busy boulevard. When I met Gaspard, I was so nervous I barely noticed his warm smile. I was too busy being a middle-schooler scanning the restaurant to see where the cool group was sitting. If you wanted to be a part of the “in crowd,” you went to the movies at the end of the strip mall then walked down to Lorito’s for pizza. So, Lorito’s became the Holy Grail of 13-year-olds.

There were certain prerequisites before you could reach the inner-sanctum of post-movie Friday night Lorito’s. First, convince your parents you were mature enough to walk to, not stray from, Lorito’s after they dropped you off at the theater in their Chevrolet Impala as your siblings yelled embarrassing goodbyes from the car as they drove off.

Then you had to pass muster with the popular crowd that had already claimed the prime tables at Lorito’s. Knowing your place, you sat calmly in the outer booths in the front part of the restaurant toward the door should you need a quick escape. I spent most of middle school and high school years close to the door.

Next, tell no one what happened at Lorito’s on Monday at school. What happens at Lorito’s stays at Lorito’s. Cosa succede a Lorito’s, resta a Lorito’s.

One night as I was sitting alone while my friend was outside convincing her mom to let her stay an hour longer, Gaspard came over to my booth. Sliding in the seat across from mine, he asked how I was doing. Then he shouted for his daughter to bring over some stuffed shells, a new item on the menu. With two forks and a plate of steaming pasta stuffed with mozzarella, ricotta and tomato sauce, Gaspard talked about Italy and family and the restaurant.

Just we two.

Soon, a few of the Keepers of the Inner Tables came over. By night’s end, we were singing a bad version of an Italian opera led by Gaspard. Or maybe it was a Tony Bennett song. I don’t remember. It was magical.

A hundred pizzas later, I still frequent this local landmark, but it won’t be the same without Gaspard’s charismatic presence. I find comfort in knowing others like Rondo Fernandez, owner of Mojo’s, is carrying on the spirit of my favorite Italian chef. Rondo’s trademark is a lot like Gaspard’s — welcoming and entertaining from entry to exit at his popular restaurant. So much, so, he’s moving from two spots in Marion County to a third one in Leesburg.

This is good. We need more Rondos. Fortunately, we can still find Gaspard’s warmth and hospitality in other locally owned dining establishments. Elodie and Patrice of La Cuisine. Albert and Stacy of Stella’s. They’ll keep the flame alive.

But there will always only be one Gaspard. Grazie, Signore Lorito.