
This 100-Year-Old Woman Is Italy's Oldest Barista, Opens Cafe 365 Days A Year
Anna Possi, who lives in the beautiful village Nebbiuno, is Italy's oldest barista, working at her cafe bar every day, even at the age of 100. Anna, also popular as Grandma Anna or Nonna Anna, officially retired at 60 back in 1984. "But why should I stop? My bar is so much more than work for me. It's my life," she told Deutsche Presse-Agentur, reported South China Morning Post. While she receives a pension of 590 euros and does not earn much money, she continues to work at the cafe for the joy of it. "But I don't need much. The important thing is that I'm around people. Then I feel good," she says.
Nonna Anna has been opening her Bar Centrale daily at 7 am since 1958, which is more than six decades. She closes the cafe at seven in the evening in winter and at nine in summer. The cafe is open 365 days a year. Nonna Anna can be found making coffee even on Sundays and public holidays. "People want to drink their coffee at Christmas too," she says.
She does not close the cafe for any personal breaks or holidays. Her last holiday was eight days in Paris in the 1950s. Even at the cafe, she does most of the work alone from morning to night. At the age of 100, she even chops wood for the small stove herself.
Noticing the change in people and cafe culture over time, she shares, "People used to sit here, talk and play cards. Today, they all just look at their mobile phones." When there is nothing to do, she gets busy with her knitting.
In November 2024, Nonna Anna celebrated her 100th birthday. Celebrating this milestone, a sign at the cafe reads 'La barista piu longeva d'Italia' or 'the oldest barista in Italy'.
Did you find Nonna Anna's story inspiring? Click here to learn about this famous restaurant run by grandmothers from around the world.
Hashtags

Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles


The Hindu
29 minutes ago
- The Hindu
Is Madras Club the best club in the country? Author Prajwal Parajuly thinks so
Calcuttans of a certain vintage think the Tollygunge Club is the Taj Mahal and a membership there, the pinnacle of aspiration. But they are cackled at by members of the Calcutta Club, who, in turn, are put in their places by the Bengal Club mafia. This hierarchy of clubs is a riotous, ridiculous notion for someone who grew up in Gangtok, a town with no clubs. I haven't quite been able to understand the investment people put into being associated with Raj-era nostalgia, more pronounced in Calcutta than in any other Indian city. First, there's something flagrantly racist about many clubs rolling out their frayed red carpet for foreign-passport holders, who are often exempt from jumping the same hoops as Indians to gain membership. But point this out, and a wildly gesticulating clubbie will list the virtues of their non-racist club: subsidised alcohol, central location, like-minded people, sporting facilities, 177-year history, urban oasis. For all this, a club membership is worth the sometimes-decades-long waitlist, they say. I am a self-anointed expert on the Indian club because I can offer an outsider's perspective, untainted by memories of horse-riding and swimming lessons and Christmas roasts. My verdict is that the best club in India isn't Delhi's Gymkhana Club or Hyderabad's Secunderabad Club. It definitely isn't any of the unexceptional clubs of Calcutta. The Madras Club, Chennai's little snobdom, is without question the Number One club in the country. I see a Delhi Gymkhana member elevate her just-threaded eyebrow and string a sentence with some permutation of 'But in terms of exclusivity ….' The Tolly Club veteran will offer an opinion about its recent refurbishments. 'And the Yacht Club?' a Mumbai native will say. 'The views are swoon-worthy.' Someone or the other will label my jaundiced take on clubs as being new money. It still doesn't mean I'll rank your club higher than the Madras Club. When Vidya Singh, a friend of a friend, suggested we convene at the Madras Club for our first meeting, I hesitated. I had been scarred by the clubs of Calcutta — the insipid food, the laissez-faire service, and the theatrics of tipping waiters on the sly — and didn't want my social life in Chennai to replicate that. I'd also have to adhere to a ridiculous dress code when shorts and flip-flops were my uniform in Sri City. Jerry, the Madras Club martinet, actually eyed my loafers several times as I climbed up to the club's foyer. Luckily Vidya had warned me: a collared shirt, shoes, and socks. Over dinner of chicken roast and mashed potatoes, I let it slip that I had been staying in hotels on my Chennai visits. 'Hotels?' Vidya said with disdain. I'd stay at the Madras Club instead, she decided. See, the nice hotels in Chennai have every amenity but grounds on which to walk. And when this Himalayan goat doesn't get his steps in, he morphs into a grump. In this eminently pedestrian-unfriendly city, footpaths aren't exactly footpaths. Parks are hard to come by. Finding a place for a stroll that's not a beach is tough. That is why the Madras Club grounds are such a privilege. The walking track here is joy in sand and clay. I like that the club's happy-making light yellow Palladian building isn't the deep yellow of the buildings of the Mediterranean. The cupola is handsome, the pool colossal. Staying in the rooms — so massive that you could actually jump rope in them without causing distress to any of the colonial furniture or the sepia pictures on the walls — is like spending a night in a friend's well-appointed guestroom. This, I understand, is what many clubs aspire to. It's just that the Tollygunge Club quarters have all the character of a PWD guesthouse with miniature pink soaps. When I stay at the club, I rise at the crack of dawn, go for a leisurely stroll and eat idli, serenaded by birdsong, on the club verandah. I read more here than I do anywhere else. The club atmosphere, of course, lends itself to revisiting the classics. Evenings are for Mulligatawny soup, supposedly invented here, and shoes (and socks) and collared shirts in the formal dining room. My checkouts are a bit of a spectacle. The receptionist asks if he should call for a cab. I smile. I walk — yes, gasp, walk — out of the club, my suitcase rattling behind me. I leave the confines of the Boat Club Road, one of the few semi-walkable neighbourhoods in Chennai, and, politely saying no to autos, head to the Nandanam Metro Station. I nearly get run over by a speeding bike. A quick metro ride delivers me to Chennai Central. There, I take a non-air-conditioned train to Sri City, a two-hour journey as egalitarian as the Madras Club is not. Prajwal Parajuly is the author of The Gurkha's Daughter and Land Where I Flee. He loves idli, loathes naan, and is indifferent to coffee. He teaches Creative Writing at Krea University and oscillates between New York City and Sri City.


Hindustan Times
5 hours ago
- Hindustan Times
Father spends ₹5.8 crore on ads to show off son's ‘cuteness', teen unhappy: ‘Why not transfer that to my bank'
A Japanese father has stunned the world by spending $700,000 to get his son's 'cute' photos plastered all over Tokyo, reported the South China Morning Post (SCMP). Over the years, the dad, a real estate company owner, has placed several ads featuring childhood pictures of his son. The boy, famous as Yu-kun and dubbed 'The Landmark Kid,' has his childhood pictures everywhere, from footbridge banners to city buses to parking signs. His dad puts the ads up because, according to him, his son is 'absolutely adorable,' and the entire city deserves to see that. According to the outlet, the ad campaigns show full-blown pictures of Yu-Kun making funny faces. One picture also shows him crying after watching a street performance. 'My son was just too adorable when he was little. I thought, all of Tokyo should know,' his father told the outlet. Now 16 years old, the teen is not too happy seeing his childhood photos plastered all over the city. 'I do not like it. I really do not,' he said. He added, 'If you really think I am that cute, why not just transfer that 100 million yen into my bank account?' 'People might not recognise my baby photos, but now that I am older, it is just embarrassing,' he continued. According to the outlet, a Chinese social media user who saw this viral story from Japan wrote, 'As the old Chinese proverb goes, 'A father's love is like a mountain,' but this Japanese dad's love is a bit too heavy, on billboards!' Another added, 'Parental love is often free, yet it can come at a high cost. Chinese parents are known for hiding their love, but it seems some Japanese parents go as far as plastering their child's face all over the city.'


Mint
a day ago
- Mint
Father spends $700K to show his love for son, prints billboard ads: Teenage kid snaps back, ‘If I am that cute…'
Talk about proud parenting! A Japanese dad is making major headlines after blowing a whopping $700,000 (100 million yen) on ads featuring his young son all over Tokyo's Adachi district. The kid, lovingly nicknamed 'The Landmark Kid', is now a full-blown neighborhood icon. From footbridges to buses, even convenience stores, Yu-kun's adorable face is impossible to miss. The boy's wild, funny, and sometimes downright embarrassing expressions are plastered everywhere. One hilarious ad shows him bawling his eyes out after a street performer startled him. That crying-face photo is now a 6-foot-tall billboard outside a subway station. Locals love him, tourists snap pictures, and the dad is not stopping anytime soon. He runs a real estate business and keeps updating the campaign with new pictures of his son. This isn't just advertising. It's a father's way of turning his kid into a Tokyo legend. He regularly asks photographers to take new 'cute' shots of his son and even plans to feature recent photos to promote new real estate projects. However, The Landmark Kid is now 16. And, he is totally over it. 'I do not like it. I really do not. If you really think I am that cute, why not just transfer that 100 million yen into my bank account?' the South China Morning Post quoted him as saying. 'People might not recognise my baby photos, but now that I am older, it is just embarrassing,' he added. When he was a toddler, his dad turned him into a walking (or crying) ad campaign. But, now, Yu-kun is super embarrassed. The story has gone viral, especially in China, where netizens joked, 'As the old Chinese proverb goes, 'A father's love is like a mountain,' but this Japanese dad's love is a bit too heavy, on billboards!' While Chinese parents are known for hiding their love. This Japanese dad printed his emotions everywhere. The United States of America will celebrate Father's Day 2025 on June 15. Ahead of the celebration, this story is a great example of a father's love. Some may assume that the teenage son does not realise the value now; he will get it when older. Some may also argue about how much is too much.