Shirley's Cafe, Severn Beach: 'Proper breakfast with a side of hyper-local folklore'

Severn Beach's oldest caff is going strong for good reason

Harry Hughes is The Bristol Sauce’s newest and youngest contributor. I believe in making space at the table — not just for great meals, but for new voices. Giving younger writers their first leg-up into food journalism is something I care deeply about. Everyone has to start somewhere, and often what emerging writers need most is a chance: a byline, a bit of guidance, and the confidence that someone’s reading.

What I’m most interested in is curiosity, honesty, and perspective — and when a new writer brings that to the page, I’m proud to help shape it. Especially if it’s about a decades-old caff in Severn Beach. Supporting the next generation matters, because the stories worth telling don’t always come from the people who’ve told them before.

If you’d like to write for The Bristol Sauce, please say hello! I’m particularly keen to hear from people who haven’t written for a publication before, and from those with lived experience of racism, living with a disability, being working-class, or not conforming to traditional gender norms. You can get in touch on Instagram (@the_bristol_sauce), reply to this email, or message on Substack.

Thanks for reading and I hope this inspires your next trip to the Riviera of Severn Beach ~ Meg.

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In a move disconcertingly reminiscent of a Vittles-reading Londoner, I have recently fallen back in love with the humble British “caff”.

I blame the quarter-life crisis. At some point after 25, hangovers become multi-day ordeals, and Sunday mornings are no longer for lazy strolls around farmers' markets — they’re for finding the quickest, greasiest cure that doesn’t involve rubbing citrus on your armpits. (A Puerto-Rican remedy recommended by Google. Never again.)

After much trial and mostly error, I’ve landed on the only reliable cure: a full English and a mug of builder’s tea strong enough to stand a spoon in.

As such, it was a blistering hangover that led me, weary and defeated, squinting in the harsh spring sun, to Shirley’s Café in Severn Beach.

When I’d roused enough to take in my surroundings, I clocked that Shirley’s Café has been going for a frankly heroic 85 years, and has been in the same family for three generations. The founder, May, opened the café during the war in the 1940s, when the area was being optimistically branded the Severn Beach “Riviera”.

It was then taken on by her daughter, Shirley, until her death in 2016 and is now run by Shirley’s daughter Susie. Sufficient demand for three generations of the same family to be cooking breakfasts for 85 years is proof they are doing something right. Nowadays, most new cafes are lucky to survive a year or two — let alone nearly a century.

I arrived just 30 minutes after opening and there was already a huge queue out the door — always a good sign, unless your head feels like it’s hosting a drum and bass night.

‘Shirl’s’, as the locals call it, has a warm, nostalgic feel — it’s a treasure trove of memorabilia, photos of the café and the “Riviera” back in its heyday. It’s breakfast with a side of hyper-local folklore. And a good deal of red or brown sauce.

It’s not just a café — it’s Severn Beach’s unofficial town hall. Builders gossip over tea, pensioners stake out window seats, kids spill chips in the garden, and lycra-clad cyclists clatter in for their mid-morning pit stop.

The 1962 Seeburg jukebox at Shirley’s Cafe hasn’t played a tune in years, with a copy of the Bow Wow Wow single Go Wild in the Country stuck at the top — one of many interesting relics on display

The menu is extensive and reads like a caff’s greatest hits album: ham, egg and chips (£9.95), cheese and onion toasties (£4.75), burgers (from £4.50), omelettes with an array of toppings (£7 including two fillings), and filled jacket potatoes (from £6.50). In the “Shirley’s Specials” section you’ll find homemade chicken curry (£11.50) — and, of course, the headliner: the full English (£8.50).

What constitutes a “full English” is always up for debate, but at Shirley’s, they make it clear what they consider essential: bacon, sausage, fried egg, mushrooms, beans, and fried tomatoes. Extras like hash browns or black pudding cost £1.25 each. Even toast is an additional 75p. An £8.50 brekkie can quickly become an £11.75 one, but it’s still a steal compared to some brunch spots in the city centre which will have you queuing for an hour to drop £20 on avocado toast and an oat flat white.

I ordered, making sure to ask for an extra slice of black pudding and a mug of tea (£2.25), collected my numbered ticket, and took a seat - braced for a long wait. The queue didn’t let up the entire time I was there, but the staff ran the place with military precision, bellowing out numbers like breakfast-hardened drill sergeants. To my astonishment, my plate landed in front of me within ten minutes. A miracle.

This sang to the tune of Coldplay’s Fix You

The breakfast? Glorious. The bacon was textbook — fat crisped just enough around the edges — and the mushrooms were properly browned, juicy, and seasoned. The beans, served charmingly in a little ceramic mug, were glossy, sweet, and comforting in a Heinz-on-a-hangover way. A herb-flecked tomato added a bit of reverse-greenery, and a nod to your five-a-day. The only miss was the fried egg, which was a bit too firm and lacking the runny yolk I’d hoped for. The clear standout was the black pudding — a perfectly cooked disc of spiced, oaty goodness. All this washed down with a strong, milky builder’s brew was classic café fare at its finest.

Still peckish — and emotionally fragile — I turned to the towering cake cabinet. It was full of homemade classics: carrot, bread pudding, Victoria sponge. I went for a wedge of chocolate and orange cake (£3.50), baked just down the road at Down’s Bakery. It was everything I wanted: hefty, moist, properly orangey from the first bite, with a sticky citrus seam running through the middle and a glossy chocolate lid on top.

A hug in cake form

Hangover well and truly defeated, I headed back out into the sunshine for a cobweb-blasting walk along the beach.

What I love about greasy spoons like Shirley’s is the lack of fuss. No avocado and poached eggs on tough sourdough, no Balinese-acai-bowl-buzzword nonsense — just proper food, made by people who’ve fine-tuned it over decades. Shirley’s café is a time capsule that will hopefully last long into the future.

Until someone invents a miracle hangover cure, this is where you’ll find me nursing a sore head on Sunday mornings.

All words and photos by Harry Hughes

Shirley’s Cafe, Station Road, Severn Beach, BS35 4PL

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