Richie Costanzo, longtime bartender and owner of the Shadyside joint Le Mardi Gras, has a polo shirt tucked into jeans, a perplexing amount of keys dangling on his belt, a flip-phone in his back pocket with a loud ringtone, black sneakers, and a golden cross necklace. He welcomes me to a tabletop Ms. Pac-Man machine, turns it on, and offers me a drink before immediately telling stories about the bar’s past.
He loves stories, and he loves to laugh. When he does, his face scrunches, and his voice turns into a squeak before he erupts.
“He’s a character,” Le Mardi Gras manager Zan Naz and I agree on the phone after I meet Costanzo. The bar’s annual Fat Tuesday event is approaching, which will be the bar’s 71st, and Costanzo’s 50th, celebration.
“This is kind of a special one for all of us,” Naz says. “We’re trying to make it a bit extra for him.”
Le Mardi Gras has proven itself to be one of the premier places to drink on Fat Tuesday, and this year, the bar hopes to mark its anniversaries by offering the same fun, but turned up a notch to honor the beloved bartender.
Located up a flight of stairs at 731 Copeland St., Le Mardi Gras has a distinct, old-school feel. It’s cash only, has very strong drinks, and, because of a loophole offered to businesses that don’t sell much food, it still allows smoking.
Every year for Fat Tuesday, Le Mardi Gras has bead necklaces, drink specials, and a live zydeco band, as well as toasts, speeches, and other camaraderie among regulars, former regulars, and newcomers.
This year, the band starts playing at 8 p.m., and there will be a new drink menu featuring “greatest hits” from the bar’s history, all priced at $8 according to Naz. These favorites include the greyhound (Tito’s vodka and grapefruit) and an espresso martini (cold brew, Kahlua, Tito’s with cinnamon on top), and a series of classic New Orleans drinks, including a Hurricane.
“You’ll be able to get the best of Mardi Gras for the best price,” Naz says. “We’re still doing the same as we’ve done the last two years, where we’re doing everything fresh. Not just the juices, but also house-made syrups, tinctures, all sorts of secret stuff we have behind the bar.”
Naz provided Pittsburgh City Paper those details with ease — Costanzo is better for stories and personality. Fat Tuesday at the bar will be the same as every year, Costanzo says. Asked how he feels about it being his 50th year, he responds by describing the sensation of being young and going to, say, a 50th wedding anniversary party.
“You say, ‘oh, one day it’ll probably be me,’ but it’s not that soon. It seems like it’s way out in the distance,” Costanzo says. “I’m very fortunate to be here, above the ground, and still doing it. I’m very fortunate that we were able to stay in business. I’ve had a lot of ups and downs. We’ve had a lot of things over the years.”
Mardi Gras and Fat Tuesday are often associated with partying, but there’s also a religious foundation to it, serving as the last hurrah of gluttony before giving something up for Lent. Costanzo is religious, he confirms. He goes to church often and says he’s witnessed miracles throughout his life.
In the early ’90s, he says, his son suffered an ear injury while playing sports. At a swimming pool one day, he leapt off a diving board and landed on his ear, blowing out his ear drum, Costanzo says. A doctor said it wouldn’t heal and that he’d need surgery.
“I was going to church every day, praying, and one day, I felt something come over me. You know, like a feeling, a warm feeling, something different,” Costanzo says.
Months passed since the swimming pool accident, and Costanzo found himself depressed. Then, at a doctor’s visit that would have preceded the surgery, Costanzo’s family got a surprise.
“He said, ‘I can’t believe this.’ I said, ‘what can’t you believe?’ He said, ‘his ear is healed. I’ve never seen this,’” Costanzo recounts.
Later in the conversation, when asked if he gives anything up for Lent, Costanzo smiled and returned to this story.
“I love sweets. My son is 39, just turned 39. He was about seven or eight years old. I said, ‘Lord, if you heal his ear, so he doesn’t have to have an operation, I’ll never eat another piece of candy, I’ll never eat a cookie, I’ll never have a piece of cake, I’ll never have an ice cream cone, and I’ll never have a piece of pie ever again in my life,’” Costanzo says. “He healed him, and it’s been 31 years, I haven’t had anything [sweet].”
So, when guests at the bar party this year and consider what they may want to give up for Lent, Costanzo will continue that 31-year-long, year-round sacrifice. In between all of the cigar puffs and rounds of drinks, patrons’ thoughts of sacrifice may have to wait until the morning.
This article appears in Feb 26 – Mar 4, 2025.
