The Savarino men, from left: Carmelo, Corado Jr., Corado Sr.
On a Friday afternoon in May, two generations of Savarino men — the father born in Sicily, the eldest son in Brooklyn, the youngest in Nashville — sit at a table on the small porch of a two-story 19th-century brick building on the corner of West 11th and Parker streets in Columbia, Tenn.
Over their heads a sign reads “Savarino Italian Pastry,” and behind them in the retail section of the shop are two cases stocked with pastry, cookies and cakes; two others with cheese and cured meats; a large cooler filled with aluminum family-size pans of baked pasta; shelving with loaves of bread and boxes of biscotti. Every 10 minutes or so, Corrado Sr. barks, “Go check the bread,” and Carmelo or Corrado Jr. dutifully heads inside to tend the loaves in the oven in the rear production room.
To be clear, the eldest Savarino is technically no longer in charge, as he was for the 15 years he ran three different Nashville locations of the family business. “I spend my time here doing nothin’,” Corrado says in his heavy Brooklyn accent, embedded in him after his parents immigrated there from Sicily when he was 9 years old. “This is his place,” he says, nodding to Carmelo.
Carmelo was almost 11, his older sister Francesca 13, when Corrado and his wife Marie left behind their home in Staten Island and bakery in Brooklyn seeking a better quality of life in Franklin, Tenn. Corrado’s uncle was already settled there, with a granite and marble business.
Biscotti at Savarino's Bakery
Though Corrado had scouted residential neighborhoods, he grievously miscalculated a location for the first iteration of Savarino Italian Pastry — a Walmart shopping center at the intersection of Nolensville Pike and Old Hickory Boulevard. “The thing that got me was Walmart,” Corrado remembers. “The parking lot was so full. I was only here three months when I signed the lease. When I told Joey [Maca, of Joey’s House of Pizza], he said, ‘What are you, stupid?’ I didn’t know.”
The bakery opened May 7, 2002, and Corrado knew he was in trouble right away. He tried with increasing frustration to define biscotti (biscots, not biscuits!) and sell sfogliatelle to a clientele who couldn’t pronounce it, much less know it.
“I lost so much money there,” Corrado laments. The minute his three-year lease was done, he moved to a little house on Eugenia Avenue in Berry Hill, and shifted to wholesale bread. He built accounts with hotels and restaurants, and a community of fellow Italian men, most of whom, like him, had moved to Nashville from bigger cities. “They would come to Eugenia — we called it ‘the dump’ — on Saturday mornings as I was pulling the last loaves out of the oven. We’d split some open, put some olive oil and herbs on it and eat. And bullshit. They brought homemade wine. Then they’d help me with deliveries. It was a great time.”
Sfogliatelle at Savarino's Bakery
He recouped all the money he lost in the first location, and in late 2006, opened Savarino’s Cucina on Belcourt Avenue in Hillsboro Village. The restaurant/bakery was a family affair — he baked; Marie made pastas, sauces and salads; Carmelo helped with the baking and made sandwiches; Francesca greeted customers and worked the register. Corrado Jr., born in 2002, grew up there, under his sister’s watchful eye and in the raucous company of men who lunched almost daily at a corner table — Ed, Al, Nick, Frank, Mike, Richard, Felix and usually Corrado Sr. “We’d sit there two, three hours,” he says. “My wife would get so mad. We’d play poker upstairs every Tuesday night. Then I put in the bocce court, and it was worse!”
Savarino’s gained fame through its sandwiches named for that core group of men, who took pride in their places of honor on the chalkboard and endlessly argued over which was the most popular. All were named for men, with one notable exception — attorney Rose Palermo, who boasts a well-earned reputation as one of Nashville’s toughest divorce attorneys.
“Rose was a customer in the first place,” Corrado explains. “When we opened Belcourt, her secretary would call in sandwich orders for the office. One day she came to pick them up and handed me a piece of paper from Rose that said what she wanted on her sandwich. I told her, ‘I’m sorry, I can’t do that.’ And Janine says, ‘You don’t understand. Rose says you’re going to put her sandwich on the board.’”
Cheeses at Savarino's Bakery
Carmelo laughs. “The Palermo was grilled chicken, marinara, mozzarella, prosciutto and roasted peppers. It was a good sandwich.”
In 2009, Ed Pontieri passed away. Then Al Bunetta’s son Yuri died in a tragic accident. Then Frank Dileo died, and in 2015, Al Bunetta. In 2016, Corrado told Marie he was done, ready to close the business. “We were fighting all the time. We were all burnt out. It was time.”
Carmelo had his eye on the future, which happened to be in Columbia. “I always wanted to do my own thing, and knew I couldn’t afford any property in Nashville or Franklin. I had friends in Columbia and started looking here.” He found a decrepit building that had been a jail, hotel and upholstery business. Corrado negotiated a price, and they bought it in November 2016. Savarino’s Cucina on Belcourt served its last sandwiches in April 2017, and the family went to Italy for a month.
When they returned, Carmelo took jobs at Bella Napoli and Cabana, with Corrado baking at the Music City Center. Together they began renovating the building in Columbia. On July 4, 2019, Carmelo launched Savarino’s Bakery, exclusively wholesale. He started with breads and cakes for restaurants. When the pandemic shut down that side of the business, he turned to cookies and biscotti, selling them by the box in liquor stores. “When you got nothin’, you come up with somethin’,” Corrado says. “Liquor stores were the only places open. That kept the business going until restaurants opened again.”
Carmelo continued growing his wholesale business, and Corrado Jr. came on full time after graduating high school in 2021. “He’s my muscle,” Carmelo says.
At Savarino's Bakery
Though his father urged him to stick to production, Carmelo says steady requests from old customers and social media followers for private orders convinced him to broaden his business. After outfitting and decorating the front room, in April he began opening for retail on Fridays and Saturdays. He intends to add more days, though not seating. The table on the porch is reserved for family.
On this Friday afternoon, a steady flow of customers comes by. Some pick up orders, some walk over from the coffeehouse across the street. The area has been designated Columbia Arts District, a sure sign of development to come.
“I grew up in this, and it’s what I’ve always wanted to do,” says Carmelo, packing a box with cannoli and bomboloni. “I love it.”
As both his sons tend to business inside, Corrado remains in his seat. “Those days at the dump and on Belcourt were great,” he says. “I’m glad Carmelo is doing this. You do things the right way, and people come to you. Do what you love, and life is good.”
