For generations of Chaguanas residents, the name “Nick” has meant more than a sandwich shop. It has become part of the town’s memory, a roadside institution where stories, recipes and routine have survived decades of change.
Inside the modest walls of Nick’s Café in Chaguanas, customers still arrive asking for the same bread and cheese sandwiches that first built the business in the late 1940s, when shaved ice “snowballs” and simple homemade snacks drew crowds to the family operation.
The man behind the counter, affectionately known simply as Nick—though his real name is Faizal Ali—says the business began with his parents, who slowly expanded from snowballs into sandwiches and quick homemade meals during a very different era of Trinidad and Tobago.
“The whole world knows about the business,” he said with a laugh. “In the late 1940s my parents started this business. They started by shaving ice snowball they used to call it in those days.”
From there came bread and chocolate, bread and cheese, and other simple offerings that would eventually become staples for generations of customers.
But the café’s story is also one of hardship and sacrifice.
Nick recalled losing his mother while he was still a young boy. Faced with responsibility early in life, he eventually stepped into the business himself, carrying forward the work his parents started.
“When my mother passed away, I take over here,” he said quietly. “It was hard work for a very long time.”
Today, after more than five decades in Chaguanas, Nick’s Café stands as one of the borough’s oldest surviving eateries—a reminder of a period when small family-run food businesses shaped the social life of central Trinidad.
Long before food delivery apps and branded fast-food chains, roadside cafés like Nick’s were gathering spots where workers, students and taxi drivers stopped not only to eat, but to lime.
Nick said many customers eventually stopped using his real name altogether.
“They just give me the nickname Nick,” he said. “Everywhere I went people calling me Nick, Nick, Nick.”
“It reminds me of the school nursery rhyme, ‘Knick Knack Paddy Whack, give a dog a bone’,” he said.
The café became especially known for its sandwiches, including its now-famous bread and cheese combinations that customers once considered unusual.
“At that time people used to say, ‘Put that pizza cheese somewhere and let me try it,’” he recalled. “It was something new.”
Over the years, the menu has remained largely unchanged—a deliberate decision tied closely to memory and family tradition.
“The same recipe,” Nick said. “My wife was number one in the business.”
Even as doubles vendors, fast-food outlets and modern franchises transformed Trinidad’s food landscape, Nick believes businesses like his survived because they offered something different: familiarity.
“A lot of people trying to get away from the oil,” he said, referring to heavily fried foods.
That consistency has created loyal customers not only from Chaguanas, but from across T&T and the diaspora. Nick said returning nationals often make the café one of their first stops after landing at Piarco.
“People come from the airport straight here,” he said. “The taxi drivers know already—they say they want to go by Nick.”
Despite decades in business, Nick says he never had grand expansion plans.
The café evolved naturally alongside the borough itself, surviving economic downturns, changing tastes and the rapid commercialisation of Chaguanas.
What remains strongest, however, is the sense of memory attached to the place. When asked what stands out most after all the years, Nick smiled before answering.
“Thinking about the sandwiches, selling, chatting with people, laughing and talking,” he said.
For many customers, that may be exactly why Nick’s Café continues to endure—not simply because of the food, but because, in a fast-changing country, it still feels familiar.
