Arrivederci, Roma

By 11 a.m. last Wednesday, over 40 people shuffled sadly in front of the deli counter at Roma Bakery in Lansing. There were no more numbers to take.

The shelves were nearly bare, but the deli was still stocked. It was Roma’s last day in business after 50 years.

At about noon, co-owner Filomena “Mena” Castriciano pulled out her phone and took videos of the lingering customers.

“This is like ‘Ferris Bueller,’” a 20-something man waiting in line cracked to his friend. “You’re supposed to be at work and now you’ll be on social media.”

Phone in hand, Castriciano worked her way down the deli counter, north to south, from the rum cakes through the chewy Calabrese bread all the way to the capicola. When she got to the salami, a well wisher handed her a dozen roses.

“Thank you all, you’ve been so wonderful,” she said at each stop.

Roma never went in for faux authenticity. The 5,000-square-foot Lansing institution had all the atmosphere of an oil change place. Only the food and the people were authentic.

“I cried all day yesterday, but the last day is even tougher,” Castriciano said.

She was 12 years old when her family came to Lansing from Italy in 1960, including her brother and three sisters. They had never seen snow, or lived in a heated house.

The story is simply told in the opening pages of her magnum opus, “Cooking With Mena,” which, like almost everything else at Roma, was sold out by Wednesday. She promises more will be printed.

Between requests for selfies and hugs, Castriciano sat down Wednesday to share a few memories.

She barely cracked the book open when a longtime customer, Erica Hendy, came up to her.

“I grew up here as a child,” she said. “We came here every Saturday morning.”

“I remember the children. New customers coming,” Castriciano said.

Her father, Mario, worked in the North Town Grocery, 807 E. Grand River Ave., a few blocks east of the river. The family lived in a little house at 813 E. Grand River.

On St. Joseph’s Day, March 19, they made zeppole, a deep-fried Italian pastry topped with sugar and filled with a custard cream or butter and honey.

Zeppole on St. Joseph’s Day was a tradition at Roma until the end.

“We were the only ones who had them,” Castriciano said.

When she was 17, her cousin invited her to her home to meet her cousin, Sostini, a baker who had recently emigrated from Sicily.

“He was so handsome, and still is,” she said.

At that moment, his handsome head was barely visible behind a hand truck as he moved a set of heavy display cases out of the quickly emptying store. He had been at the store since 4 a.m. that day.

Mena Castriciano graduated from Eastern High School and became an American citizen in 1968, the same year she and her husband were married at St. Therese.

She paused the story again when a woman in an “Outlaw” sweatshirt, adorned with skulls, rolled by, pushing a cart laden with bread.

“I just had to share a memory with you,” she said. “My grandmother brought me here every Saturday when I was a little girl.”

In 1968, Frank and Antonio’s, a small store at the corner of Erie and Cedar streets, went up for sale. The Castricianos bought the store, packed it with meats, cheeses and other good things, and changed the name to Roma Bakery and Imported Foods. It was an old school labyrinth, with barrels of olives and garlands of garlic.

“People didn’t like the smell,” she said. “Romano cheese. You have to teach people.”

Another man interrupted, waving at her as he hustled to the exit.

“Sad to see you go! Loved the cannoli!”

“Grazie,” she replied.

A 20-something man was suddenly inspired as he reached the door.

“Peace out,” he cried, raising his hand in a peace sign.

“We did it,” he muttered to his friend as they made their way from the jammed store into the jammed parking lot.

The Castricianos broke ground on the last Roma location, 428 N. Cedar St., the one that closed Wednesday, in the mid-1970s.

The seasons came and went. At Christmastime, the fluorescently lit gray and white aisles came alive with crimson tins of cookies and cakes. On Paczki Day this year, over 12,000 of the deep fried pastries went out the door. Over the years, Roma donated tens of thousands of cookies, loaves of bread, paczki and other goods to dozens of local charities and fundraising events.

For the store’s 25th anniversary, Roma’s bakers erected a huge, cylindrical cake in the form of — what else? — the Colosseum.

“We fed over 1,000 people that weekend,” Castriciano said.

She isn’t thrilled about retirement, but the work isn’t getting easier.

“We’re getting older, in our 70s,” she said. “My shoulder just doesn’t work.”

She’s looking forward to spending more time with grandkids and, if the stars line up, a trip to Italy.

“I haven’t been to Italy in 15 years,” she said. When more copies of “Cooking With Mena” are printed, she’ll do book signings.

Some customers have threatened to come to her house for their Roma fix. She may or may not oblige them.

“It depends on what mood I’m in,” she said.

Running on sheer adrenaline, Castriciano got up from the table and took another selfie with a customer, and another, and another. Soon she was behind the checkout counter, greeting another long line of customers.

A squadron of senior kibitzers broke up their last klatsch at a nearby table. Roma’s cafe nook wasn’t much to look at, but millions of cups of coffee and cappuccinos have gone down slowly here.

An older man tipped the last drop of coffee out of his cup, got up slowly and made his exit. He patted a younger man on the shoulder on his way out.

“Well, have a happy life,” he said.

“What do you mean, ‘Have a happy life?’” the other shot back. He was having none of it. “Just give me your number.”