The company started in a storefront in 1981 with a skeleton crew and a pasta machine special-ordered from Italy. Fast casual was not a thing back then when it was either TV dinners, takeout, or cook it yourself from scratch, and with fresh pasta, sauces, salads, and desserts that you could take home to make a quick meal, the place filled a need that people didn't know they had.
When they opened, the owners did most of the cooking, and they hired a couple people to handle the counter and someone to do the dishes and clean up. Robert was a native of the area; he grew up in a big family in Norfolk. He was a hard worker, quiet and smart, and it wasn't long before he was the guy who operated that pasta machine. He mixed durum semolina, eggs, and water in the Hobart, added tomato or spinach powder if need be, and then pushed fist-fulls of the grainy mixture through the twin rollers until it became satin sheets of fresh pasta. He cut linguine or angel hair, pressed ravioli, and could take the machine apart, clean it, and reassemble it in no time.
By the time I was hired five years later, the business had expanded to new location and added catering to their services, but Robert was still there. Dressed in a white snap-shirt and uniform pants, he was in charge of the pasta and supervising the back of the house cleaning crew, which consisted of his brothers, Seward and Richard, and a friend of theirs, Steven.
His sister, Recia, was a prep cook. Her station was away from all of the other cooks, a tiny stainless steel table by the pot racks and across from the dish sink where her brother Seward worked. As far as I could tell, she never cooked anything; her job was to prep vegetables, peel shrimp, and pick the shells from all the fresh crabmeat.
At the end of their shift, Recia might help her brothers finish their lists, so they could all pile into the same car and drive home.
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