MADD: gave me a mangover

Hey man, go!

Some of the most successsful niche markets are carved out by things we didn't even know we were missing. It's essentially how JML operates - who knew the world needed Ped Egg?

MADD in Soho falls firmly into this category. A year ago I'd have been lying if I said I thought that Soho needed an exclusively mango-based pudding and cocktail bar. But it turns out that did. London's pudding stomach has truly opened.

MADD follows on the back of those trendy, clinical-looking yoghurt shops that sprung up in London a few years ago. The idea of pudding cafes is Far Eastern in origin. In Japan, they play the role of the coffee shop: a place where you meet for a half hour to chat or seek shelter in cold weather. And that's enough to make them almost omnipresent. But MADD, being in Soho and more importantly in England, has to do make money in the evenings too, so it's also got a (mango) cocktail menu and music that is occasionally too loud.

The cocktails are decent, although they could do with a little variation and a few less sweet ingredients. But they are a side show, and with former-Yuatcha pastry chef on board some of them are exceptional. The owner was most keen for me to try the white-chocolate and mango mousse, which is coated in red semolina and looks like the miniature sandcastle - of course it tastes a little better too. It's delicious in fact.

So it turns out to be quite an indulgent place. You can get a jug of mango mojito, a ginger and mango cheese cake (my favourite) and settle in for a good long game of Uno or, better still, Jenga.

For those with a sweet tooth this is the ideal alternative to coffee and, let's face it, getting a good one can be rather trying in Soho. But I have to say, the best time I see a place like Mango working is as the next stop after dinner, when the pudding selection didn't quite tickle your fancy. Because believe me, mango fan or not, you'll love the desserts here. It could be the mojito talking, but it gave me a sugar rush.

Eat: souper?

No snobbery, just good soups.

I don't understand people who bring in sandwiches to work. If you are desperately close to losing your house, or owe a lot of money to some very bad people, sure. But there is no justification for putting yourself through cheese and dry bread hell when you can pop out to a decent cafe and get something better.

That didn't always used to be possible. Some of the more secondary business parks still rely on Frank's burger van. But even his livelihood is under threat now, because of the rise of "gastro-coffee shop" (my term).

Starbucks, Costa, Cafe Nero... they all offer proper lunch now: wrapped-up sandwiches the likes of which only used to be seen in a Hampstead delhi; pastries that have left Patisserie Valerie wanting to change her name; cookies the size of plates. Oh, and bad coffee.

But these are expensive. Very expensive. So the  "coffee-house bistro" reared its head. Eat, Pret and Pod all offer sandwiches to rival Borough market; cakes that make Konditor & Cook squabble between themselves; even hot meals that are, if nothing else, hot. Oh, and shit coffee.

I used to think Eat was expensive too. Their salads are around £4.50, which is a lot for some over-cooked prawns, limp lettuce leaves and sweet chilli sauce. But then I tried the soups.

Some of them are extraordinary. They top their chicken and mushroom cream soup with flaky pastry; their sweet potato and chilli soup is like a hug in a mug; their chicken laksa spicy, sweet and fresh. They even manage to bat the classic cream of chicken out of the park. They must have a repertoire of 20 or so soups, which rotate weekly.

You don't expect to walk into their cold, clinical units and receive food of this quality. At my local Eat they leave the door open constantly, letting the winter wind whip right through to the back door. It's irritating, but it has a certain effect. People huddle over the their soups for warmth, which is kind of the way that's how soup should be enjoyed. Cradling the tub with fingerless gloves, enjoying the rising steam and inhaling the scent like you're in Bisto advert.

There are flaws of course. The Chicken Pot Pie pastry is impossible to eat with a spoon, it is usually served just a little too cold and the descriptions are infuriating - they serve an "Eat classic" every day.

But it's all so reasonably priced. The large, which is about a pint, is only £4.35 but the smallest is barely over £3, and for a few pence you can get a doorstop of bread to make sure that, if the small spoons didn't manage it, you'll dribble soup all down your chin.