NEVIO PELLICCI grins as he sets down a triangle of jam roly-poly in a square bowl welling over with custard. "I like you," he announces, for the benefit of the cafe.
"...Easily led." Pellicci - Nev to his regulars - is the cajoling sort. In the clamorous Bethnal Green cafe bearing his family name, E.Pellicci, refusing food is futile; it will arrive either way. Easier to acquiesce. "This is Elizabeth," he says, nodding to a lady across the Formica.
"Baker extraordinaire. Best hash brownies in the business. Just mind her hands under the table." Nev winks at the blushing Elizabeth who, with her chatter of retired life, does not seem the handsy sort. She catches my eye and raises an eyebrow. Perhaps she is.
But Nev is already gone, gone as is possible in a 33-seat, seven-table place.
Out go teas, coffees, slaps on the back, wisecracks to the regulars. Wisecracks to the first-timers. "Oh, she's woken up!" he quacks at a deer-in-headlights student. "We thought you was conked out on mushrooms." With sister Anna, it is a room run on quips and bickers, in an East End Hollywood would write. It is a land of finks and wotchas and 'avin a good 'cart, of cash-only but plenty that's on the house. There are, they say, "quite a lot of naughty people that still come in', says Anna. "But they're good as gold in here." They, alongside all the not-sonaughty sorts, come for the food, a mix of caff classics (a full English, fried scampi, liver with bacon) and Italian stalwarts (lasagne, penne with pesto, tiramisu). But really, they come for Nev and Anna.
"I'm not gunna treat you any different, whoever you are. Dad always said treat everyone the same, mum said give everyone a chance," says Nev. "So we have," says Anna.
"Even West Ham supporters. Even south Londoners!" The pair are proud Spurs' fans. The wood-panelled E.Pellicci claims not just to be the oldest cafe in London but in the country.
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