ROME LETTER:The brief potted history of Ermete's village bar tells of how a farsighted woman's initiative in a remote, poor fishing village paid dividends
THE OTHER night on our return home to the village (Trevignano Romano) after a long, hot day in the Big Roman Smoke, we were delighted to find what seemed like half the village out in the central piazza for some sort of celebration. Political meetings, plays, even concerts in the piazza at this time of year are not unusual but this one seemed rather different, if only because of the big attendance.
Then I remembered, of course. The day before, as I scoffed a tramezzinoin Ermete's bar prior to hopping onto the bus for Rome, patron Lori had handed me a pretty little invitation to an event, held to mark the 80th anniversary of his father's (Ermete Avincola) bar.
The lovely evening, live traditional transumanza(shepherd) music and, above all, splendid and generous supplies of food and drink had ensured a full house. Ermete, who is still to be found working in the bar at six in the morning, sat at a long table in front of the bar, in the company of his wife, parish priest Don Carmelo and some of the village's elder citizens. As he sat there, the village paid a sort of homage, with guests pushing their way through the madding crowd (there is nothing that quite so concentrates some folks as free grub) to shake hands and pay their respects.
At the end of the night, a huge, absolutely delicious caramel and ice cream cake in the shape of the number 80 was produced, with Lori seemingly able to do a five loaves and two fishes act, with there being slices for everyone. One of the most intriguing aspects of the night, however, was the brief, potted history of the bar, as told by Ermete himself in a little note issued to all guests.
In an obvious sense, Ermete’s history of his bar is a history of 20th century Italy.
That comes from the fundamental role that a bar or cafe plays in Italian life. In a way that is both similar and very different to the Irish pub, the Italian bar often serves as a de facto social centre, a place where people meet over their breakfast (the classic cappuccino and cornetto) or over a hastily grabbed coffee, sandwich or aperitivo later in the day.
Ermete’s history of his bar recalls his childhood in the fascist 30s and, in particular, relates how his mother, Maria Baiocca, was a farsighted woman who saw the future daytripper tourist potential for a then remote, poor fishing village close to Rome. In those early days, there were no luminous signs, no advertising over the bar. Indeed, in those days, business was often so quiet during the day that Ermete had time to work the family land and do some fishing in the lake, with the bar usually getting busy only in the evenings.
Evening clientele, he points out, was of course “rigorously male only”.
The men would sit around, probably not consuming a lot but playing cards and telling one another the same stories, over and over again. As Ermete's history puts it: "In a contadino(peasant) world, based on the rising and setting of the sun, the bar was the only moment of diversion."
Those were the days, too, when as Ermete puts it, “Italy dressed in black”.
In the bar today, you can still see pictures that recall the activities of the Balilla, a sort of Mussolini youth movement. More than once, Ermete has told me of how, for his generation, the Balillarepresented more than anything the chance of an organised Saturday night party. "In a context where our only freedom was work, Mussolini's dictatorship did not really cause us any particular problems . . ," concludes the note, perhaps with just a little bit of the rose-tint fogging out the glasses.
Of the immediate post-war years, Ermete recalls cycling along the lake to Vicarello to collect cans of fresh milk, which he would then sell to the women in the village. Mind you, he would serve the women via a window because the inner sanctum of the bar still remained very much male.
Then in the 1950s, Ermete got one of Trevignano’s first telephones. The number was 025 and it proved to be a lifeline for half the village, including the carabinieri. Those were days, too, when Ermete’s billiards tables were so popular that people would reserve them a day ahead of time.
When he thinks back on all the changes since those far-off days, Ermete, perhaps inevitably, points out that the biggest change of all is represented by the emancipation of women – his bar is full of them now, he suggests. There are no longer billiard tables; rather he runs his own bakery (which makes the most delicious cornetti and assorted sweetstuffs).
He also points out, too, that today he even has foreigners amongst his permanent clientele. Indeed, he does and very grateful they are, too.