Sunday, 13 June 2010

Breakfast at?

This morning I talked Him Indoors into going out for a spot of brunch. One of the locals I have discovered does breakfast at the weekend and I was keen to give it a try. I have found other places that do a good breakfast in London, but was hoping to find one within walking distance.
Like everything, London is saturated with cafes, pubs and anything in between promising you good, hearty hangover grub for those days when you can’t be bothered to cook it yourself. I am a fan of having breakfast in the pub. Not only does it offer the option of Hair Of The Dog (dangerous but sometimes necessary) but if you find a good one they offer comfy seating, a selection of papers and a laidback policy when it comes to shifting you out the door when you have satisfied your appetite. So far the closest I have found that ticks all these boxes is the Angel in Highgate. The chilled out atmosphere and extensive cocktail menu including numerous versions of a Bloody Mary ticks a lot of boxes, but it is a bus ride away. And the breakfasts I’ve had there have been good, but, well, nothing spectacular.
The best place I have been to for brekkie in London has to be The Breakfast Club. They specialise in, you guessed it, breakfast, and do a top notch one at that. Not only do they offer you the traditional English, but also French (Eggs Benedict), Mexican (Huevos Rancheros), veggie, and lots of healthy options too. Only problem is, again the closest branch to me is a bus ride away and due to its popularity it is not somewhere you can linger over your mixed juice whilst perusing the Observer. Him Indoors is a fan of the Hollywood Cafe, a modest caff on Holloway Road with a huge menu and a wide variety of cooked breakfasts, many with a Mediterranean and Middle Eastern twist. Again, good food but lacking the lazy pace required on a Sunday morning.
This morning I have to say my choice disappointed. The ambience hit the spot beautifully, and whilst we waited for our nosh we were both accommodated with our preferred broadsheet. The downside? Well the food was less than inspirational. My poached eggs were decidedly fried, and my grilled tomato and bread tasted of cigarettes. And I say grilled bread because that is what it was – slightly warm bread with a little crispiness on the surface, but definitely not toast. Oh well.
So, it would appear I have a new mission. Somewhere that does a mean breakfast until at least 1pm, within walking distance of my flat with staff that don’t chase you out of the door as soon as you have mopped up the last of your bean juice. It’s a tough job, but someone has to do it...

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