"What it is, is a cafe or caff if you must, or greasy spoon if you really must. Obviously it's the cheapest option, the others being so epically expensive that for the rest of the working day you feel in golfing parlance like you're playing three off the tee. Also, the food's better. The eggs Benedict here knock into a cocked hat the eggs Benedicts served up on silver platters in the posh places."
"But the main thing I like is that when I look around at our fellow diners I get a good sense of what they're about, sitting there in big boots and trousers with big pockets, eating great big breakfasts. Builders, scaffolders, plumbers, sparks, engineers of many stripes. I know what they're up to. Proper clever work doing proper stuff. This, compared with the besuited smarty-pantsers elsewhere, picking at lavishly pricey morsels on china plates."
Early mornings in London, a man meets two friends—a fabric dealer and a psychotherapist—for 7am breakfast in Soho. Available venues shrink because of opening hours and the group's need for a toilet, leaving four options: three expensive restaurants and one modest café. The café, a greasy spoon, is preferred for affordability, better food—eggs Benedict praised—and practical comforts like tea in mugs. The diner crowd consists of builders, scaffolders, plumbers and engineers whose visible, skilled labour contrasts with besuited patrons in posh restaurants. Genuine, practical work and the straightforward social atmosphere of the café are valued.
Read at www.theguardian.com
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