A venerable Lisbon Street establishment closes its doors.
By Scott Taylor
Staff Writer

LEWISTON – The noise was beginning to get to Muriel.

As Marois Restaurant entered its final 180 minutes Saturday night, things took a boisterous turn. The restaurant was packed with well-wishers – former employees who had come back for one last visit and regular customers eager for one last chance at the dessert cart.

The air was full of restaurant sounds – clinking glasses and silverware, friendly conversation and laughter – until owner Toni Orestis decided to take a tour of the room.

A waitress’ cry of “Let’s hear it for Toni!” was met with loud cheers, and applause, only to have Toni duck back into the kitchen. She reappeared seconds later with the cooking staff in tow. After a quick parade around the dining room, they rushed back in to put the finishing touches on some of the last dinners at the restaurant.

“It’s usually busy, on a Saturday night,” said Muriel Martin, stepping out from behind her station at the bar in the middle of the building. “But it’s not this noisy. This is really noisy.”

Her sister, Cecile Poulin, said the crowds have been coming all month, ever since Toni announced her plans to close the doors at the historic Lisbon Street restaurant. The sisters have worked at the restaurant for more than 20 years.

It makes it tough to say goodbye.

“People say, ‘Oh, how can you do this? You’re our favorite restaurant,” Martin said. “But then, where have they been all the time?”

Martin’s grandson, Taylor Martin, came back to put in a shift waiting tables. That’s something he hasn’t done for five years. He wouldn’t have missed it tonight, however.

“It’s too wrapped up in my family,” Martin said. “This is something special here, something cultural. And when it’s gone, it’s going to be gone for good.”

Many of the regular employees had taken jobs elsewhere when Toni announced her decision to retire. Friends, family and former employees all stepped in to fill the ranks.

That’s fine, Muriel said – up to a point.

“My granddaughter said she wanted to help me in the bar,” Muriel said. “But it’s a small bar. Why do I need help? There’s barely room for me in there.”

The restaurant officially closed for the last time at 11 p.m. but the staff couldn’t bring themselves to lock the door. A couple of stragglers wandered in to pat backs, shake hands and wipe tears.

Meanwhile inside, waiters and waitresses and the last regular customers were toasting Toni and the restaurant that helped shape their lives. They called her tough but fair, a friend and mentor who helped guide them to adulthood.

Cecile stayed at the front, keeping a watchful eye on the cash register while the party went on around her. She still had a job to do, even on the last night.

This would probably be her retirement, too, she said.

“I don’t think I could work anyplace else,” she said. “This is fun, this is family. I don’t think another job anywhere could compare.”

staylor@sunjournal.com

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