Prepare to go down the rabbit hole… I’m sitting on a brown banquette (OK, a PVC-covered bench strewn with hotchpotch, granny-chic cushions) at a glass-topped table that turns out to be a defunct Moon Alien II computer game by Nichibutsu (“Put in the coins and the game will shart [sic]”) from, I’m guessing, the 80s (“Defending yourself from the ALIENS attack, shoot down the ALIENS with the NOSTROMO moved by the control lever”).
Next to me, a dude – sorry, but it’s the only word for him – is perched atop an old Mac hard drive with a cushion on it. Art-student types giggle, text and type together at a larger table, while a brace of older, straighter couples devour burritos and salads at a table that was once a door, one capped gent sitting on a découpaged chair covered with Superman and other comic-strip characters I’m sure I’d recognise if I had my glasses on, but I have to stop staring as it looks as if I’m ogling his behind…
This is The Marwood – in my opinion, not only the coolest caff in Brighton, with a genuinely good mix of clientele, but also the best, the most relaxed and the most fun. While it is ineffably cool, it is also welcoming; I’ve seen a smartly conservative man in a tweed jacket drinking a coffee here, clearly at ease in the boho, Haight-like environment. And the coffee is genuinely good. Now, I should declare here that I’m no regular drinker of the bean but I have it on good authority that the establishment’s claim to serve “kick-arse coffee” is accurate. And it may be my imagination, but I think that the Mozzo cappuccinos it serves come in smart (sometimes branded) coffee cups, and the lattes in glasses, while teas and hot chocs arrive in anything from plain white mugs to Winnie-the-Pooh or hand-painted china – it’s literally pot luck.
Don’t, whatever you do, ask for a soya decaf (“Every time you order a soya decaf a puppy dies”) or any extras (“NO skinny, syrups, marshmallows, sprinkles”)
Coffee is clearly a passion of hearty owner Richard Grills (who’s often about); I’ve been here while one of the waiters has not only been hand-stamping The Marwood logo onto every single paper takeaway coffee cup, but also drawing random “snouts” (pig’s noses, duck’s bills, moustaches etc) on the underside of many of them. Don’t, whatever you do, ask for a soya decaf (“Every time you order a soya decaf a puppy dies”) or any extras (“NO skinny, syrups, marshmallows, sprinkles”). The Marwood certainly has a sense of humour, but it takes its coffee seriously, a point summed up neatly by a black-and-white print of Mary kneeling before a vision of Jesus and declaring, “I swear on your dad’s life I’ll never go to Starbucks again!” You’ll never want to after this place.
The food is totally informal but delicious, appropriate and satisfying. For a couple of quid, you can have a classic cheese toastie made in a Breville sandwich toaster à la 1975; there used to be a sign that declared these to be “served on crap white bread, just like the old days”. Then there’s a range of egg dishes and homemade baked beans, and Ken Dodd’s Dad’s Dog’s Dinner (hash with onions, tomatoes, garlic, bacon, mushroom and sausage topped with a baked egg and mushroom sauce – with a veg option) and a load of other comforting brunch/lunch fodder. There are daily specials, all sourced locally wherever possible and prepared by “a complete moron working for a complete idiot” – or so the menu says.
A cute, long-haired, facial-haired, Mexican-looking chap chows down on what looks like the well-named and utterly delicious Hangover Breakfast Burrito (stuffed with sausage, scrambled egg, beans, tomatoes and mushrooms and topped with melted cheese; there’s a veggie option too); he works here, so it’s good to see he’s so enthusiastic about the food.
Everything here is so laid-back, even the arrival of a chef seems to have happened by chance (“Hmmm… Not quite sure how this one happened, but we seem to have opened a kitchen by mistake. With a suitably deranged menu”). And the cake is “life-changing” indeed – think monstrously large plum and chilli or rhubarb and ginger sponge cakes, and the gooiest, most chocolatey brownies. Don’t worry about the weight you’ll gain chomping through these, though; the scales in the ladies’ loo are gratifyingly broken and have “Mmmm CAKE” daubed across them.
Like its clientele, The Marwood’s soundtrack is varied but somehow totally in sync with the vibe – from Woodstock-era rock to Maxine Nightingale’s Right Back to Where We Started From via housey Latin Jazz, reggae and Grand Master Flash (when “White Lines” comes on while I’m visiting, the guy behind the counter starts singing, and the waitress smiles and taps her feet). It’s loud enough to nod or, indeed, groove to, but quiet enough to hold a conversation over. You’ll wish you could come back in the evening – and you can, for late-night coffee and cake till 11pm on Thursday, Friday and Saturday (other nights till 8pm).
The walls are packed with pictures, from the kitsch (Tretchikoffs, landscapes with UFOs, other tawdrily sentimental portraits with googly eyes stuck on, and the über-tastic Wings of Love by Stephen Pearson – two naked lovers encircled by the wings of a massive swan in a fantasy landscape – famous not only for its appearance in Mike Leigh’s Abigail’s Party but for being a favourite of Saddam Hussein) to zany film stills and pictures of old-school movie stars (and Rolf Harris, Michael Jackson and Tommy Cooper) as well as wartime directives – “Keep it under your hat: careless talk costs lives”). There are hand-painted skateboard decks, taxidermy, tailor’s dummies, posters, toys, old computer hardware, flashing fairylights, even a vintage mincing machine and a butt-naked Action Man zip-wiring across the ceiling, past toy helicopters. There’s a bright pink ArtVend machine that, for £4, dispenses an artwork by the local artist Imbue, and a cute red 1950s kitchen cabinet. Man, do I feel sorry for the cleaners here…
There’s a room upstairs, which is available to hire; it’s a little calmer, though equally eccentric, and there’s also a “secret garden” so secret that even most people inside The Marwood on a sunny day don’t seem to know it’s there. It has plenty of makeshift tables and chairs, bunting and strings of lights and a covered smoking area (if you must). It’s more of a large backyard than a garden, truth be told, but that’s all part of The Marwood’s charm.
Tucked away in the corner of the city’s famous Lanes (it’s easy to go into the wrong café), The Marwood is one of the few cafés in which I’m genuinely happy to sit on my own (it has free wi-fi too) for as long as I need, people-watching, reading or working. I’ve had great conversations here with total strangers. I can’t help thinking I’m letting too many people in on my little secret – so keep schtum and scoot along the bench and let me squeeze in next visit.
The Marwood, 52 Ship Street, Brighton BN1 1AF
01273 382063; themarwood.com
Three other great coffee shops in Brighton – all on Trafalgar Street
Redwood Coffee House for a less hectic but equally eclectic decor and relaxed boho vibe – with great coffee.
Café 33, where cyclists stop off for top espressos (while I go for their mean hot chocolate), and regulars fight over the best (coffee-sack cushion) seats in the window and some of the most delicious custard tarts outside Lisbon.
Bread & Milk – new to the ever-growing café scene in Brighton, it’s nabbed the sunniest spot on Trafalgar Street and serves classic cappuccinos alongside a variety of freshly filled pittas and muffins.