Save our sausages and bacon

It started, as so many things do, in Crouch End. A few months ago, I was walking towards the Oval Platter on Crouch End Broadway in anticipation of a 'number one', otherwise known as 'egg, bacon, beans, fried slice, sausage, chips and mug of tea or coffee', when I saw that the place was closed down. Weeks later it reopened under new management as Caf? Solo with - I noticed in horror - an accent over the 'e'. The Oval Platter decor (sort of brownish) had been replaced with a Mediterranean rustic look, and the menu had been overhauled. In fact, there was a menu, whereas before there'd been only a blackboard on which the following words tended to recur with reassuring frequency: 'chips', 'beans', 'sausages', 'double egg', along with eccentric but fundamentally endearing prices such as £2.95. On the new menu, by contrast, were words such as 'penne al tonno', and even more sinister inscriptions like £4.50. Excellent fry-ups are still available, but they've been marginalised, and the sauce bottles have been taken off the tables. They're kept under the counter, like pornographicbooks, to be slyly handed over on request.

Unquestionably, Caf? Solo food is better for you than the Oval Platter's mountainous fry-ups, but who wants to live forever? I happened to like the old caffs ? for their somnolent mood, their cheapness, their Day-Glo cardboard stars with the names of dishes written in marker pens, and their refusal to ingratiate, usually symbol-ised by a sign saying: 'We do not accept cheques'.

In nearby Muswell Hill, there are no caffs left at all, not since last year when St James's changed hands and became The Caf? [note that sinister accent] On The Hill. St James's, despite its posh name, specialised in sausage and mash. Order sausage and mash at Caf? On The Hill, and you get venison sausages, served with red cabbage. If you ordered a cup of tea at St James's you got a cup of tea. Order a tea at Caf? On The Hill, you get 'a pot of tea for one', which of course contains enough tea for three and is priced accordingly.

The owner of Caf? On The Hill is a lovely chap who talks of the way that people have become 'more aware of food' over the past five years, and have higher expectations. Certainly, this is true, it's just that I preferred St James's. I don't believe in Caf? On The Hill, with it's carefully chosen Edward Hopper prints and sundried tomatoes. It's too tasteful, too aspirational, too 'let's pretend we're not in Muswell Hill'. In St James's, you knew you were in Muswell Hill, all right. It was shot through with the essence of the place: old blokes smoking, fatigued housewives. And whenever you looked out of the window it seemed to be raining.

In the West End, a caff apocalypse is going on. The maroon star of Pret A Manger is everywhere; the army is in occupation, force-feeding us wholesome muesli-type things. There are two Prets in Goodge Street - not a particularly big street. Meanwhile, Lawtons, which stood there proudly for decades, has gone, replaced by Bagelmania. 'Lawtons packed up a few months ago,' said a barman at Finnegan's Wake pub opposite. 'It's a pity because their fry-ups were the best.' He said Sgt Pepper's had also gone. 'I went there last summer and the old bloke who owned it gave me a meal for nothing. As I was leaving, he said, "Take care". Next day the builders were in.'

Sgt Pepper's is now Gluttons, which capitalises on that modern desire to eat healthily with sanctimonious adverts for 'hundred per cent natural fresh juices'. But it's the other newcomer, Bagelmania, that I dislike the most, mainly for the ingratiating chirpiness of its literature: 'We gladly accept cash or cheques!' 'Don't forget our selection of gourmet coffee, juices and smoothies, soup and salads and much more!' I mean...shut up, for God's sake.

In Shaftesbury Avenue, that great little caff The Coffee Cup has been replaced by some joint pedalling 'Indian country cuisine', although not at Indian country prices. In Great Russell Street, the Monaco Cafe is gone. I'd eat cod, frazzled and yet strangely delicious chips for - what? - £3.50? Not much more, anyway. I was walking past the shell of the building the other day, and read this sign: 'We regret that [we are] closing down after 36 years of business. Thank you for your custom. Renato and Nadia.' Italian, you see. So many of the great caffs were started by Italian immigrants coming here after the last war, and now many of them are retiring, or simply capitulating to changing food fashions.

It was only a few weeks ago that the Market Caf? in Spitalfields, where artists Gilbert and George regularly went for breakfast and lunch for 30 years, finally hung up its tea towels for good. 'It was like Rules,' claimed Gilbert, 'only much better and cheaper.'

There are still plenty of good cafes. In Store Street, Sidoli's Buttery is kept afloat by University students; the Embassy on Bramley Road is highly rated by many Pret refuseniks. Above all, for me, there are two caffs on Goldhawk Road: the Metro and Cafe Rest, which have lace curtains and superbly random art on the walls (strangely tinted pictures of dogs at the Metro). Essentially, they have been fossilised since the Fifties, and their prices are pretty old-fashioned too: the Metro does sausage, mash and onions for £2.75, but, astonishingly, this is undercut by the Rest, where you can get the same for £2.60.

The Metro has the most Pinteresque blokes, though.

One of them once sat down in front of me, put his carrier bag on the floor, unbuttoned his mac, and said nothing for ten minutes. Then he spoke: 'Of course, I'm just passing through Shepherd's Bush,' he said. Visit these caffs now, before they become Pret A Mangers.