Back to chapter 5
The arrival of Battista Bolla, a skilled chocolate maker,
brought changes to the Gattis and to Ragazzo.
At first, Carlo got Battista to run one of the many kiosks he
had set up in London. Battista was glad enough of a job, but as the months
passed he fretted
.
"The longer I am in London," he said to Carlo, "the surer I am
that we should introduce our own drinking chocolate. Chocolate from the Blenio.
Why in France, all over Europe, hot chocolate is drunk everywhere. Why not
here?" Battista, usually a silent man spoke vehemently.
Carlo looked at him thoughtfully. "First and foremost, Battista,
the English have become tea-drinkers. They drink a certain amount of coffee and
you will find hot chocolate in some of the high class cafes. Why, even the
street sellers here sell what they call cocoa."
"Miserable tepid cups of chocolate water - phat!" Battista spat
out the words with disgust. "That's not hot chocolate." Carlo smiled. "Now I
believe," Battista went on, "there's a place for drinking chocolate,
particularly in London, not only in the cafes, but at home, for breakfast, in
the afternoon, at ladies tea parties, for children. And not just for the rich,
for people of all kinds."
Carlo warmed to the idea and a few days later, as he and
Battista sat over their morning coffee, he said, "Battista, if you can make the
chocolate, I'll sell it. How do we start?"
And that's where the problems began. For Battista had been
trained in the French and Italian tradition and needed special types of cocoa
beans for his chocolate.
"Very well, we'll import the beans from Paris," said Carlo
remembering his days in the Great Market there.
"But what about the
machinery for crushing and grinding the beans?" Battista was taken aback by
Carlo's sudden enthusiasm. "To make it by hand is back-breaking work."
"Santa Maria," cried Carlo, "if you want to make chocolate, back-breaking it
must be until we can do something better!"
"I shall need help," said
Battista humbly.
"We'll soon find you that."
"There's a nephew of
mine, Julian, he's had some experience in chocolate making. When I left Castro
he begged me to bring him with me."
"Send for him," said Carlo.
Once he had determined on something. Signor Carlo moved quickly
and so it came about that within a month Carlo and Battista, as partners, had
rented a house in Holborn Hill. It was a tall house on an important
thoroughfare, just on the corner of Leather Lane, with its busy market. On the
ground floor was the shop, with two good windows and paned glass. Inside, a
long serving counter with shelves behind for the bottles and jars and packets
of chocolate; and two little tables and chairs where customers could sample
Battista's Blenio confections.
The Gatti family lived on the floors above, together with
Battista and Julian; and once again Ragazzo found a place in the long attic
under the eaves amongst the other workmen Carlo had brought over from the
Ticino. Ragazzo's favourite, Luke Corazza moved in too.
Leaving the flower-makers in Coppice Row was a wrench, but to
Ragazzo's surprise and delight he found the signora had engaged little Carrie
Pye as nursemaid to Rosa and the new baby, Clara. Here was an ally and friend
on those days the Signora let him know the roughness of her tongue!
After the sadness of the last months, everyone looked forward to
the move to the new house and to watch the beginning of a new business.
Back-breaking work Battista had called it and he was right. To make chocolate
by hand was slow, laborious, hot and exhausting and Ragazzo was soon to be
drawn in to take his turn with the others, now that Carrie was working upstairs
helping the Signora with the children.
Sometimes he was set to stir the cocoa nuts whilst they were
roasting in an iron pan on the stove. "Keep stirring all the time," said
Battista, a watebful eye on the pan. When after some time the husks began to
split, he removed the pan from the fire and Julian and Ragazzo had to peel off
the hot dry husks from each bean, often burning their fingers raw in the
process. Then back went the beans to the iron pan to heat again until they
began to shine and were ready for pounding in the big mortar.
Fortunately for Ragazzo, Battista did not think him strong
enough to do the pounding, so his job was to cut up the shining sugar loaves
and feed them into the mortar. And what an ordeal the pounding was! Summer and
winter. the sweat poured off Julian and Burgonino, one of the workmen, until
they pounded the beans and sugar to an oily paste.
From there the chocolate paste went to the stone. A fine stone
slab set in a wooden box with a little charcoal fire inside, to keep the slab
and the paste warm. With a long narrow iron rolling pin, the paste must be
rolled and ground over and over again. This was Ragazzo's job and he hated it.
After a long stretch at the stone, he would sit back on his heels, his arms
aching, his head burning, exhausted. Then Signor Battista would come to test
the chocolate. "It should melt in your mouth like butter," he would say, "hmm,
there's still a roughness, a little graininess there. Try again Ragazzo." And
Ragazzo who had never tasted butter would continue to roll the iron pin
backwards and forwards until the chocolate maker at last was satisfied.
Often Rosa would come down to the kitchen hoping he would come
out to play with her as he used to do, but seeing him so tired and worn she
would say, "Poor Rag, poor Rag is tired," and then dance away, leaving Ragazzo
wishing he had never left the Signora upstairs.
In those days his job seemed never done. For ten hours a day he
would work in the kitchen or in the shop on the stone, carrying water and
always sweeping out and tidying up when all the others had gone. Sometimes he
fell asleep at the stone or dropped down in a corner, his broom still in his
hand. One or other of the workmen coming in at night would not bother to wake
him but simply carry him upstairs to his pallet in the attic. Signor Carlo and
Battista were hard masters but they worked hard themselves and expected it
always of others.
One day Carlo set off for Paris. He was going, he said, to make
a contract for the special type of beans Battista needed. For ten days they
heard nothing of him. It was Rosa who saw him first. Standing in the shop
window, she saw a large cart draw up and to her surprise, her father descending
from the seat by the driver.
"Papa, Papa. It's Papa," she shouted, running out into the
street. Picking her up in his arms, Carlo kissed her.
"Run and fetch your
uncle Battista. Tell him I have a surprise for him."
Wiping his hands from
the sticky chocolate, Battista hurried outside. In the back of the cart there
were piles of sacks.
"This should do your heart good," said Carlo. "Bahia, Caraque,
Grenada - all the sort of cocoa beans you spoke of. Here they are." Battista
stood amazed.
"Get hold of this, Roger," said Carlo to the driver. "We
must get the sacks inside." And as they carried them into the shop he added,
"There's more to come. Battista. Get Julian and Ragazzo."
As they
continued to unload, Battista realised that the floor of the cart was covered
with pieces of machinery.
"Bought it cheap," said Carlo. "A chocolate
grinding and mixing machine - all we can afford at the moment."
Battista was appalled. The machinery was old and worn and rusty.
It lay in confusion at the bottom of the cart. "You're the chocolate maker, I'm
relying on you to put it together again." Carlo'said. "It cost as much to
bri
ng this lot by cart from Paris as the machinery itself."
For days Battista, Julian and Ragazzo would stare at the pieces
of machinery on the floor of the back kitchen, trying to put them together.
Young Julian would assemble one section successfully only to find it would not
fit with another.
"I thought I understood it when they dismantled it in
Paris," said Carlo puzzled, "but now I can't make head or tail of it."
Gradually, as they cleaned the parts of rust and oiled them, the
machine began to take shape and it was Mr. Spizzi the instrument maker from
Leather Lane who finally got it going. The machine revolved and rattled emptily
and noisily. Battista was delighted. At last he would be able to roast his own
beans to perfection, to mix and blend the chocolate to his exact Blenio
recipes, for every chocolatier carries his own secrets of manufacture which he
guards carefully.
"We shall put it here, Ragazzo," he said as they manoeuvred the
machine towards the corner.
"No, no, not in the kitchen. Let's put it in
the shop," said Carlo. "Right in the window so all the world can see you at
work. It will be a great novelty - good for business."
And so it had proved. In a busy street like Holborn Hill there
were people passing all day and most stopped from sheer curiosity to see the
strange new machine. There were always children peering in, squashing their
faces against the small window panes and many people came in to ask about it.,
to sample the drinking chocolate and to look with some wonder at the
new-fangled eating chocolate, Battista's tablets and French bonbons, which they
saw on the counter.
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