"Got a table," I texted Andy at 14:31 on a nondescript Friday afternoon. He's recently returned from Sweden where he was scanned good & proper a full year after his big stem cell op. There's more patches of red and yellow on the images he shows me, and that augurs well, though it didn't help him locate the new caff directly opposite The Regent.

Gave him a menu and told him I'd pre-ordered the £35 Cataplana a Algarvia, aka the seafood stew. Not really, I said. Laminated sheet before us doesn't have a sarnie in sight. Transpires that Golden Coffee is perhaps more for those with a bit of an appetite, offering a choice of peixe (fish), carne (meat) and burgers & omelettes (you do the translation). We're very much in the Ipswichian part of the Iberian peninsula. He goes for the francesinha while I opt for cheese & ham omelette: let's share.

Ten years back we sampled the lunchtime delights of Flavours Of Portugal at number 4, St Helen's Street. Now, with the demise of Masons Estate Agents on the corner, and very much in the spirit of Vasco da Gama, they've expanded their empire. Kitchen's on one side, half a dozen tables are on the other, and I've landed a dream spot right under the big telly: yes, they're happy to turn it down, no problem.

Here's my plate-sized omelette and some fluffy crinkle (not crankle) cut chips, and here's his mega-bowl comprising a toasted sausage & steak sandwich in some sort of sauce encircled by his own portion of fries. He's trying to cut it in half, hacking his way through like Henry Morton Stanley, and has just about finished when the lady appears with a sharp knife. You like food? she asks. Is from northern Portugal. Yes, we say, very good. I'm well aware of my 4pm appointment at the dental hygienist: travel toothbrush is in my tote. Decent espresso to finish, and we are absolutely finished.

If it was a car -- UMM Alter 2000.
If they were passing by -- Nelly Furtado.