Cathedrals of coffee

By Leslie Gillilan

Sitting opposite me in a corner booth of the New Piccadilly, Adrian Maddox is putting the world to rights. It is, perhaps, what people do - or used to do - in postwar Soho cafes - a bit of sociopolitical table-banging over endless mugs of Typhoo or cups of espresso.

The New Piccadilly certainly sets the scene perfectly: the fading 1950s decor, the atmospheric fug of steam, fags and chip fat; and Maddox himself, the angry young-ish writer, railing against a society which he fears will allow the New Piccadilly - indeed, a whole generation of "vintage Formica cafes" - to be wiped out by the "scourge of fast-breeder US coffee chains".

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