Il Caffè della Nostalgia

I was in need of lunch, having spent the morning at the British Museum, but it was half-term break and the institution’s cafes were overrun and noisy. So, I decided to take my chances on the streets around Tottenham Court Road. The tactic paid off: I happened across Eve’s, one of those old-style, family-run Italian caffs that – before they were ousted by rent increases – used to be the mainstay of breakfast and lunch for London’s teeming army of office workers. In the early 70s, in Victoria, where I was employed as a junior statistician at a market research company, our office crew would dine at just such a caff. We usually had the set menu – soup, followed by meat and two veg, then apple pie and custard – washed down with cups of tea (the caffs were unlicensed). Meanwhile our bosses would be with clients in a very different kind of Italian joint, one that dished up minestrone, Milanese di pollo, tiramisu, Chianti and espresso. Afternoons in the office were usually unproductive for workers of either status.

Walking into Eve’s, I was transported back in time to a generic London-Italian caff. The décor and furnishings seemed unchanged since the 1950s, the strip-lights original 1960s and the proprietor a large, loud, friendly man with a mission to serve lunch as efficiently as possible. Only two things had changed: the proprietor, being a second-generation immigrant, had no trace of an Italian accent; and the menu was updated to take on board modern trends i.e. the inclusion of some Italian dishes. I was made to feel welcome, found a familiar-looking Formica-topped table and ordered pasta Bolognese and a side salad. The notion of drinking tea before, with or after such a meal did not appeal, so I stuck it out with water.

Being alone, I had time to contemplate my museum experience. I had gone specifically to see the new Albukhary galleries, funded by a wealthy Malaysian family and stocked with artefacts from the “Islamic world” which, because of its geographic spread, includes a few surprises. For example, I did not expect Devon to feature among the exhibits, yet there is a cabinet full of African gold that was recovered from a wreck in Salcombe Bay. Coins in the hoard date from 1171 to 1631, many of which were struck by Sultan Ahmed El-Mansour, some-time conqueror of Timbuktu and a contemporary of Elizabeth I. The treasure was found in the wreck of one of the ships of the Barbary pirates of north Africa, who frequently raided the south Devon coast, capturing people, either to ransom or sell as slaves.

Having had my fill of geometric patterns and tiny figurative paintings of Mughal princes, I passed into the adjacent gallery, which is devoted to Britain’s Anglo-Saxon era. It contains, among the displays of weaponry, more hoards of precious metals. The main ones are identified by intriguing names – Sutton Hoo and Cuerdale – which are the places where they were discovered, in Suffolk and Lancashire respectively. Now, having finished my Bolognese and begun to tuck into a chunk of apple strudel (another innovative addition to the menu), it occurred to me that I ought to acquire a metal detector and stash it in the campervan. During my meanderings around Britain I have often come across unusual topographical features, some of which just might be ancient burial mounds stuffed with treasures. I would like to find a stash, donate it to the B.M. and call it ‘The Wonderman Hoard’.

Just as I was about to google metal detectors, the proprietor approached from behind and boomed at me, “Did you enjoy it, sir?” “Just the job,” I replied, “but it would have been better with a glass of Chianti”. “You should have said,” he replied. “I always keep a bottle under the counter.” Who knew? Hidden treasure is all around us.