Year of Eating Differently (97): Servito, Broadwick Street

Despite the poor chap here being assailed by the sound of an alarm going off every five minutes, he seems quite happy, trapped behind his counter with a coffee machine behind him and bowls of sundried tomatoes and olives to the fore.
Shop itself is tiny, and on the table has two bits of advertising: a programme for the Curzon and a flyer for Torture Garden's Valentine Special, which I can't remember the link to.
Anyway, flagellating Goths aside, the place is pretty good - prompt service (well, it is off the main drag of Wardour/Dean Street) so I'm the only customer in there and he's very cheerful - perhaps because he's changed the display on the till so that it reads 'YOU ARE BEING SERVED BY AN ITALIAN GUY' when he rings up the bill.
Sandwich is focaccia with sundried tomatoes, rocket and mozzarella. This is very good, and comparatively cheap compared to some meals recently, but a word to the wise: sundried tomatoes and tomato foccacia might be over-egging the pudding very slightly. Crumpled by defeat, off to sleep under my desk while the database gnashes its teeth over some minor infraction of referential integrity. Or does it? Or do I? [enquiry into midweek ennui, doubts over own existence and exactly what it is databases do at night whilst you slumber omitted for the sake of brevity]