Maria from Genoa

Maria from Genoa 

Painting of Maria by my sister, Amy Perlin.

“I was 7 when the war finished. I remember hearing the bombs dropping down and we’d run into the bomb shelter, my family and neighbours. I didn’t fully understuntand what was going on. Food was rationed. My dad was a shoe maker and would exchange shoes for food with the local farmers, who would give him bread, cheese, salami, milk, rabbits and chickens for everyone to share. Although the war was a terrible time, I had so much fun in that bomb shelter, it brought the community together.” 

A face with a unique and untold story, Maria Rossi ran the Green Gate Cafe with her husband, John, on Hanbury Street in East London for 54 years, from 1946 to 2000. In the late 70’s the cafe was renamed “Rossi’s”. I was lucky enough to spend the afternoon chatting with Maria at her charming home in North London. It was my first time meeting Maria and I didn't know what to expect. I felt welcomed into her home like an old friend, one hand with a phone to her ear. She was on the phone to her daughter, speaking enthusiastically in Italian and laughing carelessly. The house had a lovely old-fashioned feel as if it was filled with history. I walked into the kitchen where a little TV was playing an Italian soap. The dark brown wooden cupboards, Italian rustic cooking ornaments on the walls, framed family photos, It was enough to take me back in time, to a place I had not been but seemed ever so familiar. Maria got off the phone and told me to follow her. I was curious. She took me through the kitchen, straight into her garage where I wasn't quite sure what she wanted to show me. Is this where this nice lady kills me? Absolutely not. She opened her fridge, where there were four huge triangular shaped blocks of parmesan. This was Maria's treasure. Maria explained that she brings her Parmesan over from Italy as she can't find a good one in London. I held the Parmesan in my hand and smelt it. I did not doubt her words. 

As we sat at her big wooden table with cups of tea, overlooking her lush green garden, Maria began sharing fragments of her story. 

Born into a big extended family in Genoa, Italy, “my mother taught me how to make fresh pasta and homemade pesto around our big kitchen table. This was a dish that brought the family together. I was just a child when the war was going on so I wasn’t sure what was going on, it was better that way. I remember the sound of the bombs dropping. From 1940 to 1945, many people died, many suffered, it was a tragedy. I was 7 when the war finished. Christmas after the war ended I was at my home in Italy with all my family. My mother made Tortellini in Brodo (Stuffed, ring shaped Pasta in soup broth). I remember the smell! That was one of my favourite memories". 

I had an image in my mind of her family preparing food and eating around the table, knowing that the war was over, how comforting that must have been.

“I met my husband in a village near Genoa whilst I was on holiday. We fell in love. My husband was born in that village but he was brought up in London, so after we got married, I made the decision to move to London at 22 years old. Coming from a strict family, they didn’t approve of me moving to London, but I went and they soon accepted this. They often came over to visit. It was hard leaving my family”. It was Maria’s desire for novelty that set her off onto a new journey. 

“I joined my husband’s family in running Rossi’s Cafe, a small English Breakfast/Italian cafe where we served a mixture of fry ups and Italian dishes. My husband got up at 4am every morning to start preparing the cafe and I would get on the tube to join him soon after. Whilst running the cafe, we also brought up two children, both girls. It was difficult but I had the help from my parents who came to live with us for a bit.” Maria turned to tango when times got tough. She smiled as she spoke about her love for dancing as though it was a distant memory, but she smiled even more when she spoke about how proud she was of her two daughters. 

It was very common for Italians to run English Breakfast cafes at that time. “As well as attracting Italians, Rossi’s Cafe also attracted the Russian jewish community. These two communities are very similar, with their big families and love for food.” Rossi’s Cafe was not just about the food, the food was just a stepping stone to the human connection that Maria thrived upon. “I loved serving customers and talking to people! This was one of the happiest periods in my life." Maria told me about all the interesting people she met whilst working at the cafe. “East London was a very different place and people from all walks of life would talk to each other. It was filled with community! I slowly watched East London change. It seemed as though Maria had two families, her cafe family and her family at home, both of which meant so much to her. I thought about how some of the most memorable moments I have experienced have been sharing meals with a diversity of people around a table. 

In 2000 Marias husband passed away and Maria made a decision to close Rossi’s Cafe. Maria kept the cafe sign in her garage, in memory. For a moment, we sat there in silence drinking our tea. It was a comfortable silence, both of us reflecting on our conversation. I could see how Maria had slowly opened up through our time together, how she started to enjoy sharing parts of her life. I could see the discomfort arise when there were parts she found painful to talk about. I caught the time on the little clock hanging on the wall and saw that an hour had passed in a flash. It was getting into the late afternoon as the sun reflected onto the kitchen floor and the birds sung their evening melodies. We continued to drink our tea and share stories. As Maria started to get a little tired, I asked her if there was anything that she’d like to share. She stared into the distance with a thoughtful gaze and replied with sincerity, "I just hope that young people have an easy life." Short and sweet. Maria amazed me with her humbleness. These words left me thinking about the gifts that derive from a life such as Maria's, filled with endurance.

Maria showed me out of her house through the garage. On the way, she picked up a box of pinenuts that she’d also brought over from Italy. “I’ll be using this to make the pesto! I’ll give you a call next time I make home made pasta and pesto. You must come over and eat”. We gave each other a kiss on each cheek and I head off down the road. When I looked back, Maria was still in her garage waving goodbye. 

Maria Rossi’s story has reminded me why I want to continue hearing and sharing the stories of ordinary people. Ordinary people also live extraordinary lives. It has shown me that food can be the vehicle that drives humans through the incredibly difficult times in life. Food is just part of the bigger journey.