Here is the second of Andrew's Michael Winner tribute pieces... Enjoy. Perhaps the most startlingly obvious example of David Cameron’s “Broken Britain” is the immense social problem of eating out for breakfast. Only two types of people seem to be able to do this on a regular basis; the first can be found enjoying Eggs Benedict in The Ritz, and the second a Sausage and Egg McMuffin, and the third may found eating alternative food in an alternative place, where they arrived on an alternative bike with no gears and wearing so much tweed that they look like the lovechild of Chris Hoy and the editor of Fox and Hound magazine.
Mama Latifa’s cafe in Buswelu Centre falls into none of these categories, and I decided to test this radical social experiment one fine morning. I ordered the Black Pudding and Applewood smoked bacon, and Geraldine asked for the same. Unfortunately there was a problem with their supplier (chap called Mohammed I think), so I settled for the Chapattis and Beans with a side of Chilli and sat back to take in the decoration on the wall, which consisted of a poster for an extremely overcrowded Saudi holiday resort. I asked the waitress if she had ever been, and ordered a Mocha with Baileys. “Mecca?” she replied... “No, MOCHA” I said, speaking clearly. Again there seemed to be a problem with this chap Mohammed, and I had to settle for a Chai Rangi (tea with no milk).
The Chapattis were brought by the head-waitress (Latifa, aged 3). When they arrived were bursting with flavour, and although I would have traded it for something stronger, the Chai was undoubtedly the best in Buswelu. Over breakfast, we were engaged in conversation by Innocent, a charming Tanzanian man who was fascinated by what we were doing in Buswelu. When I told him we were here volunteering at a Children's home, he wanted to know more about the charity: “How is it possible”, he asked, “to run a project like that without the guidance of God's messengers?” “Upendo”, I replied, “Is a non-Prophet organisation...”
Finally, the time came to leave, and I asked for the bill. The waitress told me it had already been paid, “What is the explanation of this?” I enquired. “It's Innocent”, she replied... “I'm sure it is, but who paid the bill?” I never got to the bottom of this mystery, but satisfied with the morning's feed, I thanked Mama Latifa and went in search of a brandy.