In Praise of The Legendary Plaza Cafe

Situated on Upper Brook Street, within striking distance of the University, the Art College, several hospitals and a variety of technical colleges, the shabby formica dive known as the Plaza Cafe was a Mecca for those who liked their food cheap, spicy and with a hint of danger.  Between 1968 and 1985, Charlie, the Somali proprietor, dispensed half birianis, originally costing five bob a time. 

No-one had ever been seen to order either a whole biriani, which would have been unbelievably huge, or the mysterious meat biriani.  It was always the chicken which came shredded atop a large, glutinous pile of livid yellow rice.  This plateful was merely a vehicle for the accompaniments – rough chopped onions in a bright red coating, a plastic pint pot of water and a bowl of the most delectable, delicious, heavenly sauce which came in a choice of three levels, mild, medium or hot.  Service was speedy, a matter of seconds, and the birianis rolled out from lunchtime until after 3am when the last drunk’s face was lifted from a sticky rice pillow.

A photo of a Plaza menu, unfortunately, not too clear

The Plaza gained mythical status amongst students in the late sixties.  Indian and Pakistani curries were still relatively unusual, but a North African dish with an Asian name was fusion cooking well before its time.  In those days, the newness of the alien food invited suspicion and prejudice.  The urban myth of the alsatian pieces in the fridge was repeated earnestly around the college bars.  What was obviously chicken was claimed by some to be cat, rat or city pigeon.  Stories abounded of late night punch-ups, terrible retribution meted out to non-payers or the most ghastly abuses of hygiene.  It didn’t matter a jot.  Those who loved the Plaza came in their droves and were devotees for life.

Charlie - a Manchester Hero

Another side to Charlie’s culinary accomplishments was his mixed grills.  These were devoured by the, usually Irish, labourers from the local building sites and came on two plates, one for the chop, sausages, black pudding, bacon and liver and the other for the chips, mushrooms tomatoes and a massive pile of cabbage.  Muscular, tattooed workers dominated the early lunchtime trade, giving way to the long-haired hippy student population as the day progressed. This would be interspersed with trainee nurses and doctors who took their style straight from the ‘Carry On’ films.  By the early hours of the morning the final client group would be the drink and drug-crazed remnants of the city’s pubs and clubs.

One of my favourite incidents was when a waiter, wearing white coat, leant over someone’s biriani to place a dish of onions on the table.  As he did so, his sleeve scooped up the top layer of chicken and rice.  Apologising, he shook it out, back onto the plate.  And, of course, being a true Plaza lover, the customer ate it as if nothing had happened.

I took a friend from London there once.  I was so proud of my bohemian art student life in the gritty north and the authenticity of the eating places compared to wimpy Barnet.  Unfortunately she failed to become a Plaza convert when she spotted the garnish of a whole cat's whisker lying cheekily across the top of her biriani.

As the years went on, Charlie wholeheartedly embraced student culture and worked on his own fearsome reputation.  Sauces were now competitively named ‘English gravy, Mild, Medium, Hot, Very Hot, Suicide, Killer and Charlie's Special.’  Tee shirts were available showing the slogan ‘I Survived the Suicide Sauce’ and, in some circles, biriani eating became more of a competitive sport than a food-lover’s delight.

Then one day, some time around the mid-eighties, the Plaza was gone. 

That little spot on Upper Brook St, behind the Infirmary, once the centre of the universe, had turned back into just another run-down part of the inner city. Charlie had amassed enough money to comfortably retire and ‘rough and ready’ eating places were becoming more and more constrained by health and hygiene rules.  

But, all these years later I, and I’m sure thousands of others, would gladly pass by any number of Michelin starred restaurants just to experience the glorious taste of that hot sauce again.  

Photos from Bluesky and davdevalle via Manchester Digital Music Archive
https://www.mdmarchive.co.uk/tag/7369/Plaza_Cafe,_Upper_Brook_Street