Bari Restaurant & Pizzeria Equipment Corp Bari Restaurant & ...

Late on a Saturday morning, Bari Restaurant & Pizzeria Equipment is bustling. Most of the shoppers weaving in and out of the store's well-stocked aisles appear to be looking for something specific. They are probably restaurant owners or will be soon, and are assembling supplies before opening. Chances are they will find what they need. A quick glance reveals cutlery, meat slicers, chalkboards, cotton candy makers, cash registers, pastry bags, keg coolers, dough retarders, ice machines?

From the back of the shop, Anton and Michael Bari run the show. Stationed behind a large, heavy desk, Michael has the appearance of the man in charge, with a commanding growl and an ever-present pack of Marlboro Lights. He's the wise guy who, when asked if Anton is his brother, snaps back, "No, he's my sister!"

It turns out that Anton Bari, who has the same slicked-back hair as Michael?Anton's is silver, Michael's is black?is not his sister. Anton and Michael Bari are cousins, both grandsons of Nicola Bari, who started this business 54 years ago.

"Our grandfather came from Italy," recounts Anton, who pads around the store in stylish cross trainers, a white Ralph Lauren sweatshirt and shiny gray track pants. "First he opened a radio service on Mott Street," he says, pointing to a man in a sepia-toned photograph that hangs on the wall. "Then he moved around the corner, and it evolved into restaurant equipment."

I ask Anton how a radio service evolves into a supplier of restaurant equipment.

He furrowed his brow. "I'm not sure," he says, after a pause. "He was very mechanically inclined."

Nicola Bari started off by selling starter kits from 244 Bowery to Italian immigrants wishing to set up their own pizzerias. "He put together a package at a reasonable price, gave you a list of equipment, wrote up a bill, you signed it and made payments every week," Michael explains.

"Funny," says Anton, "Because business then was done on a handshake."

Michael grumbles. "People aren't honorable anymore. Today they'll put the money in their pocket and tell you a hard story."

"So now we can't give out credit anymore," shrugs Anton.

It seems that the starter kit also went the way of honor. As pizzerias started to demand more refrigeration, paraphernalia for hot and cold sandwiches, deep fryers and other equipment, the business (no relation to Bari's Pizza) grew to accommodate them. Anton can now count their addresses on two hands. "244, 42, 40, 38, 36, 34, 32? Plus three across the street," a total of 10 Bari-owned storefronts on Bowery between Houston and Prince.

One space houses the workshop where Bari produces its own line of pizza ovens, refrigerators and custom stainless steel work; another is a showroom for tables, chairs and the kind of generic artwork you might see hanging in a pizzeria; yet another holds industrial kitchen equipment. The Baris say that they must have serviced thousands of restaurants in the city. "On any given day there are hundreds of customers in here, and each one owns a different restaurant," claims Anton.

As we stroll onto Prince Street, Michael points to the window of the Connecticut Muffin Company. "See that tag on their refrigerator? Bari? You're going to see that tag in a lot of places."

[gabi@nypress.com](mailto:gabi@nypress.com)