GALATI & SONS
ITALIAN PROFILE
April 15th 2025
You can’t walk up Wray Avenue Street, South Fremantle and not be stopped in your tracks by Galati & Sons Delicatessen. Everything from the shopfronts colourful array of signs, boxes of sweet-smelling pineapples and mangoes to the scent of fresh basil and ripened tomatoes spilling from the doors draws you in. This bustling store, a Fremantle icon since 1958, tells a story much richer than its shelves stacked with olive oil, fresh produce, and continental rolls. For over six decades, it has nourished not only the locals but also the culture and memory of the Italian community in Fremantle.
Founded by Sicilian migrant Antonio Galati, the store’s humble beginnings trace back to the early 1950s. “My father came here in 1949,” recalls Salvatore Galati, Antonio’s youngest son and now a second-generation grocer of the store. “Back then, Fremantle was dotted with Italians keeping chickens and growing their own vegetables,” Salvatore says with a smile. “We sold wheat for the chickens, oil by the container, even Italian magazines, and slowly slowly the Australians kind of liked the type of food we were selling and we just grew from there.”
Antonio brought his Sicilian heritage into every brick and beam of the building, living above the shop like back in Italy. “He had to go to the minister to get it approved,” Salvatore explains. “The shop looked massive at the time, compared to everything else—but it had that warmth, that feeling of home.”
Decades later, that same warmth continues. The business remains proudly family-run.
“It’s me, my brother Santo, and my sister Rina. My son Antonino’s here, and my nephew Anthony too,” Salvatore says. “Some of our staff aren’t blood, but they’re family. They’ve been with us for years.”
There’s a comfort in the familiarity, the same rolls, the same specials, the same quiet nod of respect between customers and staff. It’s the kind of place where people stick around, not just to shop, but to talk.
Walk in on a weekend, and you’ll likely find a crowd gathering around their famous produce truck. “We do these silly specials,” Salvatore chuckles. “Last week it was rock melon for 29 cents. The week before, giant watermelons for $2.99. It creates a market feel—people come for the bargains, but they stay for the community.”
Salvatore believes few areas of the world would be able to support a small delicatessen such as theirs. Stating how they are very “fortunate that locals are supportive of small businesses in the area.”
In a suburb now lined with pricey boutiques and upscale cafes, Galati & Sons holds firm. It’s very different to everything else that’s around here, and kind of in general. Theres not much of a comparison. “We’re not perfect, but we give people value,” Salvatore says. “Fremantle can be expensive, so we try to keep things affordable. We even take in fruit that chain stores reject—just because it’s not square or the right temperature. There’s nothing wrong with it.”
Beyond bargains and fresh figs, Galati & Sons plays a deeper cultural role. It’s a place where dialects are kept alive, where the smell of Sicilian olives triggers childhood memories. “A lot of the old Italians are gone now,” Salvatore reflects. “But this shop—they introduced their daughters to it, and now their granddaughters come. People still speak to me in Sicilian, and I try to respond. They like hearing it. It brings back something for them.”
Even the food traditions carry stories. Vincenza Galati, wife of Antonio, was renowned for the food she would prepare, “she was very passionate, the way she would make it for her children she would make it for the customers as well.” Not only would she throw herself whole heartedly into her food preparation, but she created a community within itself, “she would have a group of her friends get together and they would make arancini about three times a week, going through like 40kg of rice. At one stage used to sell a thousand week.” Nothing’s louder or fuller of life then an Italian woman’s kitchen. As Salvatore describes it “It was almost like a men’s club, a men’s shed without being a men’s shed.”
In my opinion Vincenza embodied wholeheartedly the pure meaning of being an Italian, warm, inviting, caring, nutruing, teacher to others, offering her service and knowledge to the wider community and greeting everyone with open arms.
Hearing him talk speak on his mother’s involvement in the store and the local community, you could hear the hurt and [insert word to describe missing someone] “She only passed away four months ago. It’s been hard.”
The sense of loss is tangible, but so is the pride. Salvatore speaks with honesty—about the grind, about the love, and about why it’s all worth it. “There are times I don’t want to be here,” he admits. “But there’s a passion. We eat the food we sell. We care.”
"In Italy it's called a bottega, it's a vocation"
In a Fremantle that’s ever-changing, Galati & Sons is more than a store. It’s a living memory, a community hub, and a proud symbol of Italian resilience and joy. The family’s roots run as deep as the olive trees of their Sicilian homeland, and thanks to them, the Italian spirit in Fremantle keeps growing—one roll, one rockmelon, and one warm greeting at a time.
Built with Shorthand