Inside the Regency Cafe, a Westminster greasy spoon that’s gone global, little has changed since it reopened under new ownership in July. The art deco style remains, as do framed pictures of Muhammad Ali and various old Spurs players on the walls, and the red gingham curtains. There’s still a queue to order, filled by the same steady stream of punters – a mix of builders, politicians, civil servants and tourists. The menu still features set breakfasts, steak pies and bread-and-butter pudding. It remains almost impossible to spend more than a tenner.
You still wait for your toast before taking a seat, but now instead of being barked at and potentially embarrassed by the maître d’ (a thrilling yet mildly terrifying experience), a number is gently called. My regular order, liver and bacon, survives. Five slices of iron-y meat, perhaps a little overcooked, three rashers of thick-cut bacon, just perfect. Some brown sauce, a glass of orange squash. Out in 20 minutes.
The Regency, first opened in 1946, is a beloved institution. And when its legendary Anglo-Italian owners announced they were selling last year, many feared it would disappear. Thousands of greasy spoons have shut this century, as tastes change and costs spiral. But, mercifully, two Turkish-born restaurateurs who own several establishments in London have saved it. Fevzi Gungor said they were committed to “preserving the cafe’s enduring legacy”, before admitting to “exploring opportunities for future growth” and hinting at franchising to Dubai. “My aim isn’t to change what people already love about Regency Cafe,” he said, “but to enhance it, extending opening hours, refreshing equipment, strengthening our social media presence and introducing merchandise that captures the spirit of this iconic spot.”
The reaction was mixed. Many who have visited have found, like me, the breakfasts as good as ever. But a celebrated British greasy spoon in Istanbul, one of the other rumoured locations? Surely not.
I wonder why we are so protective of the great British caff? Like the difference between pubs and bars, caffs are not cafés. Like pubs, caffs often house a community, with a series of regulars, imprinting on the local culture. While Regency Cafe had long sailed into the realm of tourist destination, it kept its charm. A café can easily become a chain: Starbucks are built to be memetic; Nero is crying out for franchise. A caff? Its charm is precisely in its un-replicability.
It is hard to run a hospitality business these days, and Regency’s new owners have calculated that they must branch out to succeed. Huge queues every day are insufficient. Merchandise? Fair game for restaurants these days (a Top Cuvée tote bag anyone? What about a candle from Bao?). It’s an extra income stream, and free branding. A podcast? Fellow Anglo-Italian caff institution E Pellici in Bethnal Green has one; last time I walked past on a Saturday, at least 100 people were queueing.
But a franchised caff just feels wrong. Sure, there have been fry-up chains. Little Chef (RIP) and the Breakfast Club, which has 15 branches, come to mind. Although the latter is a brunch restaurant in its soul. Perhaps it is necessary: more than 4,000 restaurants shut last year, and according to one study co-authored by the trade body UK Hospitality, a third of businesses are operating at a loss and at risk of closure. Those closures have brought opportunity for entrepreneurs to buy ready-made sites – see the Gugnors and Regency – and industry analyst James Hacon reckons franchising, though not without its own difficulties, “can be a relatively low-risk way to grow”.
One risk is detracting from the brand, cheapening something special. I adore Da’ Vinattieri, a tiny Florentine shop specialising in tripe sandwiches, but I wouldn’t want it in London. Da Michele, a Neapolitan pizzeria famous for only making margheritas and marinaras, now has branches in London and Manchester with vastly bigger menus and proportionately worse pizza.
Caffs are often idealised, says Richard Crampton-Platt, who founded Cafe Britaly, a short-lived homage to Anglo-Italian greasy spoons in Peckham. He argues they have to adapt and modernise. Accepting card payments, opening beyond 2pm and offering halal options are welcome ways to move with the times. But does franchising not detract from the founding essence? Does a caff cease to be a caff when it lets go of these affectations? Crampton-Platt is concerned by franchising. “It’s slightly alarming. A caff by its nature is about community.” When it becomes about margins and scaling up, community can fall by the wayside.
In an insightful blog on the new Regency, journalist Angus Colwell stated that while authenticity can be a meaningless term, a restaurant should be “real”. “I prefer the organic restaurant over the curated, rational one: restaurants born out of love in the kitchen, not calculations in the boardroom.” Regency Cafe is real; it’s hard to see its roll-out across the world being so. An expansion would chip away at what makes London special. What next? E Pellici Las Vegas? Mario’s Cafe Monaco? Regency’s new owners have done a stellar job merely by keeping it as it was. Let’s hope they realise what a special thing that is.
[See more: British food is reactionary now]
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