Bay Area Stew
Ode to Lucca Ravioli
by Angie Minkin
My kids grew up at Lucca Ravioli,
that quintessential deli in San Francisco’s Mission.
Beautiful Italian men tended to them carefully.
They toddled there on fat legs, hair all blowy,
sat on counters, drooled at stunning food compositions.
My kids grew up, full, at Lucca Ravioli.
So many dinners of pasta and sauce for our family;
pancetta, prosciutto, Parmigiano,—delicious nutrition.
Beautiful Italian men fed us all, so carefully.
94 years on the same corner. The place is almost holy.
No useless shops then, no tech bros making acquisitions.
My kids grew up, innocent, at Lucca Ravioli.
94 years—over and gone. That holy ground will be wholly
disturbed. Overpriced condos? $12 juices? SF’s new religion.
Those beautiful Italian men left us bereft—carefully
sent packing. Lucca’s closed today. It filled slowly
with distraught locals—no one had asked our permission.
My kids grew up, loving and happy, at Lucca Ravioli.
Beautiful Italian men tended to them so carefully.