Mauro Crisciotti in his historic trattoria La Matriciana in central Rome
Established in 1870, not long after Italy’s formation as a modern nation state, it is a Roman institution, a traditional trattoria which attracts a devoted clientele with classic dishes such as rigatoni alla carbonara, tonnarelli cacio e pepe and saltimbocca alla romana – veal escalope with ham and sage.
But the normally welcoming doors of La Matriciana, a historic eatery which sits opposite Rome’s 19th century opera house, are now closed for the second time since the coronavirus swept Italy in late February.
The restaurant first closed in early March when the Italian government declared a national lockdown.
Now, it is shuttered again, after Mauro Crisciotti, who owns the restaurant with his brother Fabio, 49, and his 86-year-old father Fortunato, tested positive for Covid-19.
Mauro Crisciotti, his wife Marina and their daughters Carolina and Vittoria
He already had enough to worry about – how to retain the staff, how to pay the debts racked up during the lockdown and how to adapt to the government’s decree, issued last week, which requires bars, cafés and restaurants to close each night at 6pm.
Now this. He started experiencing symptoms of the virus last month and immediately sought a swab test – which entailed queuing for 11 hours, no less, at a public testing facility.
“I had a high fever but I’m over the worst of it,” he said from his home in Rome, where he is in quarantine until he tests negative. His 10 employees were all tested, but none of them was infected.
The hardships and heartaches experienced by Mr Crisciotti, 48, over the last eight months encapsulate the devastating impact the pandemic has had on Italy, and in particularly the tourism and hospitality sector.
He and his family – he is married with two young daughters – are a small piece of a huge crisis which is predicted to knock at least 10 per cent off Italy’s annual GDP.
The exterior of La Matriciana restaurant in central Rome
“It’s been stressful. You feel you are fighting every day just to stay afloat, without any help from anyone else,” he said.
He and his family have worked hard all their lives. His father was born in Abruzzo, a poverty-stricken region in the Apennine mountains, but migrated to Rome after the Second World War in search of better prospects.
He found work as a dishwasher and worked his way up from there.
During the lockdown, Mr Crisciotti had to lay off his employees, who were supposed to receive furlough payments from the government to tide them over.
“It took five months for the payments to arrive. And that only happened because one of our customers worked at the department for social security and we called him asking for help,” said Mr Crisciotti. “Without personal contacts, you’re on your own in this country.”
Fortunato Crisciotti is 86 but still works in the restaurant — until it had to close down for the second time
Even when the money did arrive, it was not much – just €700 a month for each employee, far less than what they normally earn.
To compound the economic pain, his wife Marina, who works in a five-star hotel in Rome, was also laid-off during the lockdown.
Once the lockdown was lifted on May 18, Mr Crisciotti was able to reopen his trattoria, as did tens of thousands of other restaurants up and down the country.
But he had to cut the number of tables from 34 to 24 to conform to social distancing rules.
His takings were initially about 30 per cent compared to normal, rising to around 50 per cent in the summer as tourists hesitatingly returned to Rome and locals began eating out again.
Restaurant owners have staged protests against the government's shutdown, including this one in front of the Duomo in Milan
Credit: Getty
Now, though, the restaurant is shut again because of his coronavirus infection. “Before the virus hit, we were a really healthy business, with no outstanding debts. Now, we have loans to repay, old bills to settle, we have to pay for gas and electricity even if we are not open. And we still have to pay the rent. It’s a really tough situation.”
He estimates that altogether, the restaurant has lost more than €525,000 as a result of the pandemic.
The health crisis has exposed the fundamental failures and weaknesses of the Italian state, says Mr Crisciotti, who is a trained sommelier as well as the owner of the restaurant.
Dysfunctional at the best of times, many Italians feel its response has been woefully inadequate during the coronavirus emergency.
“The furlough payments took months to arrive, it was difficult to get lines of credit with the banks. There was a total failure of the state. We feel that we were completely abandoned,” he said.
He supports the thousands of restaurant owners, chefs and waiters who this week staged rallies in 25 cities across Italy, protesting at the 6pm closure rule imposed by the ruling coalition.
As businesses across Italy struggle to survive, organised crime sniffs an opportunity.
Mr Crisciotti echoes the warnings of senior prosecutors and police when he says he fears the shortcomings of the Italian state offer an opening to mafia networks like the ‘Ndrangheta of Calabria and the Camorra of Naples.
“It’s a real danger. Organised crime groups can make loans and offer help where the state has shown itself to be absent.”
Once he recovers from the virus and comes out of quarantine, Mr Crisciotti wants to reopen the restaurant. That could happen as early as this week.
“Economically, it’s not really worth it. But psychologically, it’s hugely important. The longer you remain closed, the greater danger there is that you may never reopen. Closing down is death.”
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