Celestino Drago, A Dream That Began in Galati Mamertino: The Chef Who Turned Authentic Italian Dining Into an American Empire

Nine hundred dollars and a change of clothes for two weeks. That was all Celestino Drago had in the suitcase he packed in a hurry in 1979.

 “But I never intended to move to the United States,” he recalls. “I thought I’d take a work experience—use a paid plane ticket and spend two weeks in Los Angeles.”

Instead, once he arrived, something clicked. On the roads of California he found what would become his life’s mission: introducing Americans to authentic Italian cuisine.

 “The ingredients weren’t right,” he says. “Italian food in the U.S. had been shaped by immigrants who improvised as cooks without real training. They needed work and did what people wanted. I found terrible food—especially what they called Southern Italian: plates overflowing with tomato, spicy, heavy… That was considered Italian cuisine, and it wasn’t even remotely what it should have been.”

So he made himself a promise: if he stayed, he would cook the real thing—and open his own restaurant. “I opened the first one in ’83.”

A Career Born Almost by Accident

Did he always want to work in food?

 “Actually, it happened by chance,” he says. Drago studied at a technical industrial institute and left Galati Mamertino—a town in Sicily’s Nebrodi area—to move to Pisa for training as a mechanical technician. While studying in Tuscany, he earned extra money at “Pierino,” a restaurant run by Ignazio and Francesco Diana. He started as a dishwasher, then one day was asked to prepare pasta dishes. He knew only the simple recipes his mother made at home, but the work quickly became a passion.

When he finished school and was offered a job at Piaggio—selected, he notes, as one of only two candidates out of 600—he declined.

Family Roots as Business Foundation

Food, he says, ran through the family. As the eldest of eight children, he felt he had been “very fortunate” because his parents could devote more attention to him. His father, a farmer, taught him cultivation and craft: how tomatoes grow, how to care for a small garden plot, how to milk sheep, make cheese, harvest wheat. His mother taught him the domestic arts: cooking, making beds, ironing.

How much of that did he carry to the U.S.?

 “A great deal—far beyond hospitality,” he says. “I had a very strong human and cultural foundation. It served me not only in work, but in life.”

The Turning Point: ‘Educating’ America

The real turning point came during his Pisa years, when he rose quickly and became the restaurant’s chef alongside the owner who trusted him. Word spread about the young talent in the kitchen. One day, a visitor approached him: a friend had a restaurant in Hollywood and needed a young chef who understood Tuscan cuisine. “Why don’t you come? If you like it, you can stay.” Drago accepted—still believing he would return.

When did he realize the U.S. would become a second home?

 “When I decided I wanted to ‘educate’ Americans about real Italian food,” he says. “In ’79 everything felt exciting. I was like a child in a candy store—work, friends, fun. I was hired as chef at an Italian restaurant in Los Angeles, Orlando Orsini. My parents didn’t even know I was in America.”

They certainly would not have approved, he adds, “even in Tuscany—let alone across the ocean.”

From Beverly Hills to a Family Enterprise

At first he went alone. Then he brought over his brother Calogero, who had graduated from hospitality school in Giarre. Within a year, Drago was already leading his first restaurant, “Celestino,” in Beverly Hills. Soon after, brothers Tanino and Giacomino joined. Today, in Los Angeles, the active family core includes Celestino, Calogero, Tanino, Giacomino and Carolina. Back in Galati, brother Pino runs the restaurant Degusto; their mother Carmela, now 90, still lives there—“and still keeps an eye on all of us, as she always has.”

Would it still be possible today for a young person to follow his path?

 “The America of ’79 was different,” he says. “It’s still possible, but much harder. Today you need specific qualifications. Employers must first give opportunities to U.S. citizens—unless you have at least $500,000 to invest, in which case a permit comes quickly. Back then, paperwork moved fast and you started working. And Italy’s authenticity at the table was still a ‘virgin territory’ here. Today you still need talent and drive, but bringing real Italian cuisine was new then.”

Winning America Through Ingredients—and Standards

How did he win over American diners?

 “With ingredients,” he says. “I was obsessive. I brought seeds from Sicily, had tomatoes, arugula and basil grown for me. Today I source everything from Italy—even very fresh fish. Now there are farmers here who grow what you need, and you can find everything quickly. When I arrived, people didn’t even know rice the way we do—Arborio, Carnaroli. They made instant risotto with the kind used by Chinese restaurants.”

Looking back, what is the secret of his success?

 “The will to do it, and the passion I had inside,” he says. “Even more: love for my homeland, for Sicily. When I saw restaurant signs that said ‘North Italian cuisine,’ almost implying the South wasn’t ‘proper,’ I took it as an insult. That’s when my personal battle began.”

A Restaurant as a Classroom

Drago sees hospitality as education.

 “Absolutely. The dining room is a classroom,” he says. “You have to teach—help people understand the culture and history behind a dish. Only then can they truly appreciate it.”

In one of his restaurants, called “L’arancino,” the menu is written in Sicilian dialect and English. “I wanted to bring to the table what we had in Sicily.”

Today, he says, customers are far more aware than he could have imagined. The conversation has moved beyond generic “Italian food.” Regional specificity has emerged: Roman, Sardinian, Sicilian, Campanian. “Now a territory expresses itself through dishes,” he says.

Scale, Succession and the Next Generation

How many businesses does he run today?

 “About ten,” he says. Some are operated with his brothers. He also runs a bakery-pastry shop, a catering service for special events, and “Drago Centro,” where he spends most of his working hours. He lives in Century City, near Beverly Hills, but his daily routine is anchored in the restaurants: mornings at Pastaio in Beverly Hills; nights at Drago Centro. Each brother manages a different venue.

Is a new Drago generation stepping in?

 “We hope so,” he says. He has two daughters: Olivia, 29, who works at Pastaio, and Francesca, 27, who works in fashion. His brothers’ daughters are also pursuing hospitality careers. “This is a very hard business,” he says. “I told my daughters: don’t do it out of obligation. Do it for yourselves—only if you have passion in your blood.”

Recognition, Sacrifice—and Returning to Sicily

What has the work given him, and what has it taken away?

 “It gave me enormous satisfaction,” he says. “I could express myself, invest, earn recognition. I was named a Cavaliere del Lavoro by the President of the Republic. Universities invite me to speak about my story.”
What he missed was Sicily: its traditions, a feeling that is hard to explain. He has lived in the U.S. for 46 years and admits the distance has weighed more with time. “That’s why I decided to spend at least four months a year in Sicily.”
He built a home in Capo d’Orlando and planted experimental vineyards in Galati Mamertino. “Partly to encourage young people to stay,” he explains. “I want to tell them: you don’t have to leave. We have land that offers everything. I hope others see this small vineyard and create more.”

On his 60th birthday he founded the Celestino Drago Foundation, with a mission to preserve the memory of traditions that are disappearing, using food as storytelling. “One day, who will remember who your grandfather was?” he asks. “Young people live in the era of social media and iPhones—everything feels immediate. They should know that once, everything came from sweat.”

The Dish That Brings Him Home

The dish that takes him back is a kind of caponata his father used to make, cooking each vegetable separately—peppers, eggplant, potatoes—then combining everything with onion and tomato. His father loved cooking, adding his “touch” even when his mother was at the stove.

“That aroma, that flavor—along with my mother’s tomato sauce—I carry them with me,” he says, “even if vegetables here will never taste like Sicily.”

And this, he believes, is the true duty of chefs: to bring to the table not only a recipe but the story of traditions, flavors, conviviality and hospitality—what Italian cuisine ultimately represents. “UNESCO has certified it now,” he says, “but we have always known it—and we have always shared it.”