You might think I would relish reviewing this cafe, like hitting the proverbial cow’s bottom with a banjo but no. I was taken here for milky coffee in those ceramic style cups as a kid in the 1970s and gorged on toast smeared in butter. So I have a slight nostalgic, soft spot for it.
It is still going but not all that surprisingly. It is a cheap greasy-spoon and serves basic comfort food – mainly fry-ups (with chips) and other things that are very greasy. The decor, a long shaped-building with booths ranged along each side which hasn’t changed since I was a kid as far as I can tell. I doubt much else has either. The counter, the toilets, cutlery and plates all seem to have been preserved as if we have just stepped out of Dr Who’s Tardis forty years ago.
Still it keeps going because it does what is says on the tin, providing you a reasonable fry-up or a couple of pieces of toast at a fair price. It’s target market seem to like it and it will therefore survive in a world of artisan flat-whites and avo on sourdough. It does a latte but that is more like something from a sample vial of an artificial inseminator. Oh and the toilets are grimmer than John Prescott’s undercarriage but that’s only to be expected here.
So it’s a bit cack and cheap but if you like that sort of thing, fill your boots. Your very dirty, dung splattered, boots if you want to wear them. No one will care in here.
Good: Cheap and greasy.
Bad: Cheap and greasy.