The legendary bakery closed Sunday after 109 years. Reaction was one for the ages.
Since mid-February when the bakery’s owners announced they were retiring, legions of customers had lined up before dawn for a last order of the shop’s marquee product: cheesy pizza squares. They came from all over New England and as far away as North Carolina. A Los Angeles expat posted that he’d be winging his way east before it was too late.
Some bought whole trays of 18 squares apiece to stow in home freezers for future occasions. Others bought freezers just so they could. They shared their pizza memories with one another and left the bakery crestfallen.
“Made my last stop,’’ one customer posted on social media. “And as I was leaving, I started to tear up.”
I can’t recall the first time I stepped down those cement steps into the basement of that unassuming house on Waverly Street. I do remember the pizza, rolls, and Scali loaves on the table at my wife’s family gatherings — christenings, Christmas Eve, graduations.
All due respect to my late mom who made a mean pot roast, but Framingham Baking Company’s goodies were my gateway to meatballs and more.
At Framingham’s now-defunct Union House restaurant, whose bread and rolls were supplied by the bakery, I had my choice of dishes. Veal and chicken parm, housemade pizza, and a favorite: a side of pasta in garlic and oil, hold the marinara. Who knew?
One night I asked a Union House waitress for my choices of salad dressing. She snapped: Italian! Any more questions? No, ma’am.
Next to the Union House, another disappeared icon: T.J.’s Market. My childhood bologna was as thick as a shingle and just as tasty. Their Genoa salami and Prosciutto di Parma were sliced razor-thin and carefully placed in rows across wax paper like a sacrament, a scrumptious one.
Down the street, yet another: John & Son, a bakery where they knew not to fill the crispy shell until the cannoli was sold. A soggy cannoli can make a person do bad things.
A few Italian spots remain in the neighborhood. At the Columbus Club where I first tasted tripe, men still gather at the bocce court in warmer days, sipping beer and trading laughs. La Cantina, the restaurant where Fanny’s famous Italian salad dressing was conceived, does a great business. Waverly Market is another.
Still, Framingham Baking Company’s demise cuts deep. Some customers trace their family loyalty back six generations, whether stopping there after Sunday Mass or before family parties. For many town workers, the pizza was the go-to lunch.
“This is so much more than the dough,” a woman said on social media. “It’s a time capsule.”
The bakery’s earliest customers came from the surrounding neighborhoods of Coburnville and Tripoli, which welcomed a wave of Italian immigrants in the early 1900s. The newcomers went to work at the Dennison, the Apron Factory, the foundries, and more. Church was St. Tarcisius, built for the new arrivals in 1907, where my wife and I were married in 1985.
The bakery itself was established in 1917 by three Italian immigrants from an extended family. One of them was killed three years later when his horse and delivery wagon were struck by an automobile. Keeping the business up and running after that was wrapped up in family DNA. The latest stewards, Joan, Ernie, and Kathy of the Thomas family, were on the front lines, in the wee hours, turning out trays of pizza and batches of loaves and cookies, and hours later, taking care of customers.
These Irish taste buds want to thank the Thomases and their predecessors. Of course, I’ll remember the bread and pizza and my further discoveries of this world-class cuisine, but let’s not forget the bakery’s crucial role in memory and tradition: the beating heart of countless families, including mine.
No wonder they lined up for pizza and left with tears in their eyes.
Dining and Cooking