Coffeehouse, The Third Place
A Place of Connection, Conversation, and Endless Stories
Growing up in an Italian family, good food was important, along with conversation, and coffee after dinner.
My mother would clear the table of dishes, then as a ritual, she would set down a tray with espresso, still steaming from grandpa’s old and dented, espresso pot. It’s the pot he brought with him from Italy in 1901.
A plate of Italian cookies or bite sized pastries and a bottle of anisette.
A relaxing time, it’s when we gathered to share stories. A ritual I still love. Sharing coffee and food creates a feeling of community.
After selling my upscale bakery and catering business, I felt so burnt out I decided to take a position at a corporate law firm. I had no intention of opening another business.
A year later, in December of 1990, my corporate law firm began to downsize. I received a pink slip.
On my last workday, the pink slip still crisp in my hand, I decided to pick up some groceries on the way home.
No parking in front of the neighborhood market, I parked on the side of the building. As I exited my car, I saw a crumpled sign taped to the window. A tiny space, it read, for rent. I walked over, cupped my hands to be able to see inside.
It appeared to be about 250 sq. ft with Wainscotted walls, and an old, tin ceiling. Dusty, dirty, and filled with old racks and shelving, it looked like the set of a Fellini film. I fell in love.
After arriving home from a five-week vacation in Europe, I couldn’t settle back into American life. I missed the lively gathering of people at a Third Place.
Home, work then a third place, where small plates were served, with either espresso or wine, and where conversation flowed. It reminded me of the gathering around our dining room table, which I yearned for.
The “third place” is a term coined by US sociologist Ray Oldenburg in his 1989 book The Great Good Place. It describes a place outside your home or work where you can relax and hang out.
As a single mom with little money, I took a leap of faith and opened my diminutive coffeehouse, calling it Lulu. A nickname given to me by a 3 year old who couldn’t say Louise, A nickname that stuck.
I subconsciously created a business that replicated what I missed.
On April 4th, 1991, I opened Lulu, A European Coffeehouse. Little did I know then, I would begin the roller coaster ride of my life.
