Maria’s Café sparkles in Phillips neighborhood

by Tom Donaldson

    It's business as usual on East Franklin Avenue. Dealers linger on corners. Inebriates meander down the sidewalk. A police car pulls a U-turn and speeds off toward Chicago Avenue. Just the everyday sights of the city's most neglected prime commercial corridor.
    But inside the Ancient Trader's Market at 11th and E. Franklin, something out of the ordinary is occurring. Appetizing aromas emanate from a busy kitchen. Regulars at the counter shake their heads at the newspaper. Patrons of all persuasions enjoy fresh, delicious meals in a clean, well-lit space. Welcome to Maria's Café, a successful and inviting oasis from the urban decay that still defines so much of North Phillips.
    The namesake of this neighborhood jewel is Maria Hoyos, whose steely outward confidence cannot quite conceal the warm neighborliness exuding from within. The Colombian immigrant opened this incarnation of her restaurant in January 2000, after 18 successful years at 56th and Lyndale. Toward the end of her stay there, the area became overrun with drug and prostitution activity, exacerbated by a “very bad landlord.” Hoyos decided to look for another location. When her lease expired and she hadn't found a new space, Hoyos closed up shop. “I was very disappointed,” she said.
    As were her customers, a fiercely loyal bunch that included council members and others active in community affairs. After a couple of years, Hoyos began to hear from them. “They would call and ask, 'When are you going back in business? We miss your food,'” she said.
    Then, in 1998, she received an invitation from the American Indian Business Association, which owns the Ancient Trader's building. Chosen from a candidate list of 18, construction began later that year. But due to parking and permit hold-ups, the restaurant still wasn't complete on the eve of the building's grand opening.
    “At seven that night, there was still no carpet or lights in the restaurant. I so wanted to be part of the grand opening,” said Hoyos. “I went home very disappointed.”
    But when she came in the next morning to help with the festivities, her disappointment turned to joy. Overnight, the workers had finished everything and even moved in and arranged the tables. “I cried that day,” said Hoyos. “It was very special.”
    While she'd been warned about the problems in the neighborhood, any trepidation was assuaged by her firm resolve and a time-tested business acumen: “If you know how to run a business and treat people, they'll respect you,” Hoyos said.
    At first, there were some problems with drug dealing and prostitution on the sidewalk, as well as panhandlers and drunks coming into the restaurant. When dealers once tried doing business in the café, Hoyos was upset.
    “My son said, 'Mom, take it easy. We don't want those people doing anything to you.' I said, 'No, they must respect my place.’ So I told them, 'I'm sorry, but leave now or I will call the police. I don't want this happening in my place of business.' Everyone is welcome here. I just don't want anyone coming in to destroy my business,” Hoyos said.
    Hoyos' assertion of openness is confirmed by the eclectic mix of folk seated around the cafés two rooms. On this particular day, a young, white, tattooed couple sip coffee while listening to the live Latin guitar strumming of musician Robert Everest. At another, an elderly couple in Sunday-best discuss the morning's sermon. Near the door, a trio of African American men devour Maria's famous corn pancakes. And at the counter, a Somali man contemplates the menu.
    While her ever-increasing local clientele reflect the diversity of the neighborhood, Hoyos' old customers make the trek into Phillips, as well. “When I tell them where my restaurant is they get scared and ask why I would open a restaurant over there,” said Hoyos. “I say, 'Just come over and see.’ They come and they just love it. They walk around. They shop at Walgreens and come back and say, 'It's as nice as any Walgreens in town.'”
    A beacon of hope for a community on the edge, Hoyos' fans and friends make it clear they appreciate her presence in the neighborhood. “They say, 'We aren't going to let you go. We are so happy you are here,’” said Hoyos.
    “I don't feel bad at all about the neighborhood,” she added. “I love the neighborhood. It's what I want this place to be … a neighborhood restaurant.”