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Long before Starbucks
or Tim Hortons there was Giacomo
Zuccarini. For 46 years, as the exclusive distributor
of Gaggia espresso machines in Canada, he made it his life's
work to teach Canadians to make and enjoy a decent cup of
coffee.
When he arrived in
Toronto in the early 1950s, by way of Mexico City, Casablanca,
London and Italy, it was not love at first sight. Too many dirt
roads, not enough culture, and the coffee . . . aqua sporca!
Dirty water.
So, in 1956, Giacomo
opened The Sidewalk Café at College and Yonge as a way of
showcasing a new lever-system espresso maker he had imported
from Italy. The café boasted the city's first heated patio, and
its first wood-burning pizza oven. The star attraction was
Giacomo's stunning girlfriend, who was said to be Hungarian
countess. She greeted patrons perched inside an enormous coffee
cup. The place was a success -- until one night his partner
skipped town with all the money, leaving a devastated Giacomo no
choice but to close down. Stung by this betrayal, he vowed his
children would learn self-reliance.
When Giacomo married
in 1964 he hoped for a son. Instead his beloved wife Karin gave
him three daughters. While he tried to hide his disappointment,
he was never really sure how to relate to the girls and treated
them like boys. "No kid-glove treatment for the Zuccarini girls. We were only
11 and 12, and Pa had us fixing and lifting these heavy espresso
machines," recalled his eldest daughter Jackie. "He'd say,
'C'mon, you can do it, you're strong.' "
Giacomo's own youth
was the stuff of good Italian opera. Had his mother married
according to her uncle's wishes she would have inherited a
fortune. Instead, she married for love and lost everything. The
family background was one of wealth and privilege, yet Giacomo
grew up poor with little formal education. A disputed will led
to a court order that split their villa in half by means of an
interior brick wall. The servants' quarters housed pigs.
Giacomo left the farm
in the late 1930s and found work waiting tables at London's
fabled Savoy Hotel. No sooner had he acquired the coveted job of
maître d' when the Second World War erupted. He was drafted into
the Italian army and landed in the North African heat in a
ridiculous wool uniform. The Allied Forces overran North Africa
and he became an American P.O.W., yet he maintained his zest for
life: he'd bribe the guards with cigarettes, steal out of camp
and disappear into Casablanca to dance until dawn.
Throughout his life,
he boasted that he never missed a day of work -- even after
being diagnosed with leukemia in 1994. Last Christmas, despite
feeling terrible, he forced his failing body into the shop.
Jackie arrived to find her father huddled over his espresso
machines and gasping for air. "It's that damn fagioli your
mother made, it gave me indigestion!" he told her. Doctors later
found that Giacomo had suffered two heart attacks.
Every day in
hundreds of cafés, bars and restaurants across Canada, coffee
drinkers unknowingly pay tribute to Giacomo Zuccarini simply by enjoying
a cup of espresso. But a life cannot be measured out in coffee
spoons. Rather, we can count a thousand dance partners from Rome
to Mexico, tens of thousands of satisfied customers and
innumerable souls warmed by his generous smile.
Richard Syrett is a producer and broadcaster living in
Toronto. He makes a terrible cup of coffee.
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