A couple in their mid 20’s walk in shortly after I do. The holiness of the old bell signals a new customer. The chimes are interrupted by a fierce argument. I make it my duty to decipher the contents of the couple’s quarrel.
I quickly glance and see the man waving his hands in a disorderly fashion. The man was covered in tattoos. His left ear pierced. His jaw was noticeably dropped, and his back stooped over. One tattoo had caught my eye. There was a young woman’s face stretched visibly across the man’s left shoulder. The tattoo was not dissimilar to that of the Virgin Mary.
The lady, presumably the man’s partner, was short in stature. Her hair was dreaded; she wore beaded pants and a black pair of thongs. She had three piercings in her bottom lip. Her voice was rather coarse. Both voices become frantically elevated. The lady raised her voice to make known her disapproval, and the man abruptly interjected. He halted as if a sudden wind had swept over him. Becoming aware of his surroundings, he affectionately rested the palm of his hand on the lady’s shoulder, and soothingly stated:
“Let’s settle this over a cannoli and espresso.”
The couple take a seat on two of the wooden stools. They talk, they drink, they argue, they eat, they laugh, they smile. The world’s troubles have been quelled with a solitary ricotta cannoli and short black.
It is shortly after this moment, that the elderly lady at the counter approaches me. She has gorgeous, court blonde hair. Her skin is bloom, glowing and clear. She smiles.
I tell the lady my name, and explain to her that Tony Cavallaro, the owner of the pasticceria, is expecting me.
“Antonio! Lui é arrivato. Un uomo giovane. Antonio! Dove sei?”
I jitter in excitement – not because of the delectable deserts that surround me, but rather due to the wooden bar stools, the assortment of caffeterie for sale at the shop front window, and the antique frame of a black and white photograph of the founders of T. Cavallaro and Sons, Tommaso and Sarina Cavallaro. I was transported to 1956, to the pasticceria’s original establishment. 50 years on, and the interior has not experienced much change. Yet, the streets and roads of Footscray that this small shop was engulfed by, had experienced a wave of disorientated migrants. Those who had left their country with little money, yet big hearts yearning to call a place home.
Tony walks in from the back entrance, underneath the portrait of his parents. He introduces me to the machinations of the shop. There are trays upon trays of biscotti. Tony’s wife, Rosa, works determinedly. She appears to be rolling out some dough. She is discussing with another worker her bemusement over tourists in Capri.
“I don’t understand how they can wear high heels. How can they climb all those steps with high heels on? It’s just not practical!”
The history of the past has intertwined with that of the present. Like his father, Tony wakes up with his wife, travels to his wife what, leaves with his wife. Their marriage, like that of Tony’s father, is not solely a partnership of matrimony and affection, rather that of religious practicality.
There is an old Philips radio that is covered in dust and flour. Roberto, Tony’s son, is kneading dough whilst Pink Floyd’s ‘Wish You Were Here’ permeates the surround.
“How I wish, how I wish you were here
We’re just two lost souls
Swimming in a fish bowl
Year after year
Running over the same ground
And how we found
The same old fears
Wish you were here”
On reflection, T. Cavallaro & Sons is not merely a business, but an institution. It is respite from the trials and tribulations of life. Not only a haven for the marginalised working class of Footscray, but too for the younger wealthy demographic, now flooding. A melange of culture surrounds the shop. Distinct waves of migration sitting layered one atop another on Hopkins St, where the shop is located. Tommaso and Sarina gave birth to this institution in 1956. Tony and Rosa have continued to nurture it until the present day. Roberto will have the duty to oversee it years into the future.
Tony’s shop is not your average small business, it is a 5-square-metre church in the heart of Footscray. The bar stools are pews. The altar is the countertop. The all-seeing eyes of Tommaso and Sarina Cavallaro will forever watch closely from above. The church’s servants are the couple sitting on crooked bar stools, two lost souls, now meekly eating ricotta cannoli.
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