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Enticed by espresso from a Portuguese cafe

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THERE IS A DENTAL practice in Golborne Road (North Kensington). One afternoon in late 1994, I went to meet its then owner, Mr M, with a view to working there. It so happened that he remembered me from his days as a pre-clinical dental student at University College London. At that time, I was a PhD student and once a week I taught (tutored) physiology to the pre-clinical dental students. I believe that I learned more about the subject than my students while I was teaching them.

Because both of us had studied in the Physiology Department and later at the College’s Dental School, we knew a great deal in common and had much to chat about. While we were talking, Mr M offered me a coffee. He ordered this from the café next door to the surgery. It was some of the best espresso coffee I had tasted for a long time. We reminisced for a couple of hours during which we had one or two more of the superb cups of espresso coffee. He offered me the job, and I accepted. I worked in the practice during the next five years, and then left for another one. Later, Mr M sold the practice, which is now owned by another dentist and is still in business.

The café next door to the practice, Lisboa Patisserie, is also still in business, and the quality of the coffee served there has never been less than excellent. This popular Portuguese establishment also serves a wide range of Portuguese baked products, both sweet and savoury. Although it is now about 25 years since I last worked at the surgery, my wife and I visit the Lisboa Patisserie on average at least once a fortnight.

Yesterday, 29 March 2025, I was standing across the road from the surgery and the café when I noticed the magnificent blossom on a tree standing close to them. Seeing this, brought back memories of how delicious espresso coffee helped to entice me to accept a job at Mr M’s dental practice.

An unexpected story told in a cafe in London’s North Kensington

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LAST YEAR I READ a fascinating book, “Staying Power”, written by Peter Fryer and first published in 1984. It is a history of black people in Britain from the time of the Roman conquest until 1984. In it, the author gives plenty of examples of the hostile reception that black people arriving in Britain received from their racist British neighbours and workmates.

Today (the 28th of March 2024), I was sitting in the Lisboa Patisserie, a cafe in North Kensington’s Golborne Road, when I began chatting about the ‘good old days’ with a gentleman, who is a few years older than me. He told me that he had come to Britain from the West Indies in the early 1950s when he was 8 years old. Having read Fryer’s book and having heard stories of racist behaviour, I asked him whether it had been difficult for him and his family after they arrived in England. I was astonished and very pleasantly surprised by his reply.

He told me not to believe that everything was as bad as is often recorded. From the moment his family arrived, the English people they encountered were all very kind and friendly. As an example, he described what happened when his family were evicted from their flat by their (black) landlord. They were literally out on the street with nowhere to go. Two English (i.e., white) ladies, who were chatting to each other over a garden fence, saw them, and asked what had happened. Hearing their plight, one of them said that she had a spare room in her attic, where they could live until they found somewhere of their own.

The gentleman in the café told me that once they had settled into new accommodation, they were at a loss as to how to deal with things that they had not had previously encountered in the West Indies. For example, back in the Caribbean, their home did not have electricity or gas or many other domestic things that were usual in British homes in the 1950s. It was their white milkman, who came to their rescue. If there was something they could not deal with – for example replacing a fuse – their milkman would come into the house and help them out.

Our friendly neighbour in the café said that he could give me many more examples of kindness and friendliness of white British people, which his family had encountered. However, as he could see that we had finished our coffees, he concluded by saying that contrary to, as he put it: “what millennials only want to hear”, it was not all bad as far as white British behaviour towards immigrants from the Caribbean were concerned. He did not know that I do a lot of writing, but he said that I should write down what he told us as it needed to be known – and that is what I have done.

I must add that his story is somewhat unusual because even today, we still hear of too many cases of intolerance and even harm to Afro-Caribbean people.

PS: although this has been published on the 1st of April, it is NOT an April Fool’s joke!