Grandma Anna: Italy’s Centenarian Barista and a Living Legend
March 22 - 2025
Coffee Geography Magazine
Every morning, like clockwork, Grandma Anna is up and at it again. For 65 years, day after day, week after week, she has been the heart and soul of her beloved Bar Centrale in the picturesque village of Nebbiuno, perched above the stunning Lake Maggiore. At 100 years old, Anna Possi, affectionately known as Nonna Anna, holds the title of Italy’s oldest barista—a testament to her unwavering dedication and love for her craft.
Since 1958, Nonna Anna has opened her café at 7 a.m. sharp, winter or summer, rain or shine. The doors close at 7 p.m. in winter and 9 p.m. in summer, 365 days a year. In November, she celebrated her centennial birthday, and a proud sign now adorns her café: “La barista più longeva d’Italia”—Italy’s oldest barista. It’s a badge of honor, a reminder to every visitor of her remarkable achievement.
But behind the pride lies a sobering reality. Italy’s café culture, deeply woven into the fabric of daily life, is facing a crisis. Many family-run establishments, like Bar Centrale, are struggling to find the next generation to carry the torch. According to the National Hotel and Catering Association (Fipe), the number of cafés in Italy has dropped by 20,000 over the past decade, leaving just 132,000 between South Tyrol in the north and Sicily in the south. The reasons are universal: grueling 12- to 14-hour workdays, low wages, rising rents, and skyrocketing coffee bean prices. For young Italians, the allure of being a barista has faded.
Yet, cafés remain the lifeblood of Italian society. From a morning caffè* (espresso) or cappuccino paired with a cornetto pastry, to a midday espresso pick-me-up and an evening *aperitivo*, these rituals define the Italian way of life. Cafés are where people gather—whether in bustling cities or sleepy villages—to chat, debate, and connect. In Nebbiuno, Nonna Anna’s Bar Centrale is more than a café; it’s an institution.
Officially retired since 1984, Nonna Anna has no intention of slowing down. “Why should I stop? My bar is so much more than work for me. It’s my life,” she says with a smile. Even on Sundays and public holidays, she’s behind the counter, serving coffee with a side of warmth and wisdom. Her last holiday? A brief eight-day trip to Paris in the 1950s. “People want their coffee at Christmas too,” she quips.
Born in Vezzo, just a few kilometers from Nebbiuno, Nonna Anna’s journey began long before Bar Centrale. After finishing school and the end of World War II, she worked in a restaurant on Lake Geneva, where she met her late husband, René, a Swiss national. Together, they bought the bar in Nebbiuno’s village center. But René passed away half a century ago, leaving Nonna Anna to run the café alone.
Today, her daughter Cristina, 61, occasionally helps out, balancing her own job at the town hall across the square. Cristina lives above the bar, but she has no plans to take over the family business. Nonna Anna’s son lives in Milan, 75 kilometers away, and her two granddaughters have moved out, leaving her to manage most of the work herself—even chopping wood for the café’s small stove.
Financially, the café is a modest operation. A caffè costs €1.20, a cappuccino* €1.50. On quiet evenings without tourists, the till might hold no more than €40. Combined with her €590 monthly pension, it’s a humble existence. But for Nonna Anna, money has never been the priority. “I don’t need much. The important thing is that I’m around people. Then I feel good,” she says.
Her café is a window into changing times. “People used to sit here, talk, and play cards. Today, they all just look at their mobile phones,” she observes with a sigh. When the café is quiet, she passes the time knitting, her hands as steady as her spirit.
At 100, Nonna Anna’s health is remarkably robust. “My head is still going strong, and so are my bones,” she declares. Her last doctor’s visit was two-and-a-half years ago—or five, according to her daughter. She doesn’t need glasses, though she admits her hearing aid “never works.” Her only medication? Half a tablet daily for high blood pressure. “You don’t have to believe everything the doctor says,” she adds with a wink.
As for the future, Nonna Anna harbors no grand illusions. “I used to want to go to Paris again. But that’s probably not going to happen,” she says with a chuckle. “It doesn’t matter: the French don’t know coffee anyway,” she teases.
Her greatest concern is the fate of Bar Centrale. “When I’m gone, my bar will be gone too,” she says matter-of-factly. For a while, she hoped Cristina might take over, but her daughter has other plans. Nonna Anna shrugs, picks up her knitting, and carries on—a living testament to resilience, passion, and the enduring spirit of Italy’s café culture.