The Tin Goose vs Giraffe
Terminal 1
Heathrow Airport
TW6 1QE
by Herby Banger
Dixons and sleep deprivation can do strange things to man. When you catch yourself thinking about spending £60 on a ticket to enter a raffle for a fast car then you know you're in a dangerous place. That place: Terminal 1 of London’s Heathrow Airport, where I found myself on two early mornings in October 2005...
6th Oct 2005
It was dark and cold outside. I stumbled sleepily under the bright lights trying to find the improbable: a finely cooked breakfast in an airport. My choice was the Tin Goose, a sort of lounge-bar-come-coffee-house. It was dark, yet warm at this early hour. Under its entrance a sign read “Great Food, Great Coffee, Great Bar”. One felt that they only need add “Great Times” to make it complete.
Ordering at the bar I (of course) opted for the English Breakfast, which came in at a whooping £7.95. I waited for its arrival with the café latte of death. Steamed to an outrageous temperature, it tasted more like a cup of napalm and remained undrinkable long after I had left. The breakfast itself, avec the obligatory plastic cutlery and unnecessarily odd shaped dish, wasn’t too bad though. I got eggs, bacon, a free-range pork sausage, tomato, mushrooms, baked beans and toast. The eggs were a bit undercooked, which was annoying but all in all it was a decent attempt. I wasn’t unhappy…but I was far from inspired.
27th Oct 2005
I woke up early again and got my lift to the airport. Checking in was no fuss. It wasn’t long before I found myself standing outside Giraffe. As the name suggests this is a lighter, sunnier affair than the Tin Goose. With its African safari theme, coffee bean world music and happy waiting staff I sat down feeling contented before I had even ordered. Where the Tin Goose had tried to be a Jack-of-all-trades, Giraffe knew what it was: a breakfast/brunch specialist. With countless options to choose from I ordered the 'Full Brunch Plate'; eggs, bacon, sausage, tomato, potato wedges, toast and coffee.
I must admit to enjoying it immensely, everything seemed cooked with care and a slight continental twist set it apart from the normal fare. A superior quality all round was reflected in the taste, which was itself enhanced by a varied range of sauces available on the table. I also enjoyed one of the many fruit smoothies on offer, which gave the experience a healthy, wholesome sheen. At £6.95 it was a pound cheaper than the Tin Goose, and although I do not want to be overly harsh, the Giraffe won this race by a long neck. By far the superior option if you find yourself under the bright lights of Heathrow at dawn.
Wednesday, November 30, 2005
Monday, November 21, 2005
Mess, Hackney Central
Mess
38 Amhurst Rd
Hackney Central
E8 1JN
020 8985 3194
Breakfast served: weekdays 7am - 5pm, Saturday 8am - 6pm, Sunday 8am - 4pm
by Hashley Brown
On rainy Sundays when skies are grey, and breakfasting beckons from a more leisurely post-meridian hour it’s reassuring to find a cosy café full of kindred spirits that‘ll serve you a hearty breakfast - and such was the prevailing ambience at Mess.
Grey skied inclement Hackney is never the most inviting of places, but Mess shone through like a glistening jewel of fat in a good gravy. With deep blue walls and enough pine cladding and furniture to put a Scandinavian sauna to shame it had a busyness that was both warm and inviting - it almost effervesced. Still packed right up til its 4pm closing the menu boasted a range of breakfast fare from the Full E. through to various scrambled egg derivatives.
Choices were made, a full English for me, scrambled eggs with smoked salmon for her, accompanied by subsidiary tea and juices. The ‘Mess breakfast’ came with the usual bacon (crispy), egg (runny), mushrooms (done in a pan with butter) and tomatoes (tomato-y) with the addition of hearty fried potatoes and a mysterious sausage. I say mysterious in that its somewhat standard outer appearance belied a herby meaty inner that was pleasantly surprising. Scrambled eggs came in a freshly-cooked moist pile with a more than generous amount of salmon littering the eggy base, all heaped on good white toast. Service too was excellent, with staff not playing a Big Brother eviction charade as soon as they closed, letting the lethargic linger over post-prandial tea.
Breakfast for two for just shy of a tenner - full marks for both, and happy tummies all round
38 Amhurst Rd
Hackney Central
E8 1JN
020 8985 3194
Breakfast served: weekdays 7am - 5pm, Saturday 8am - 6pm, Sunday 8am - 4pm
by Hashley Brown
On rainy Sundays when skies are grey, and breakfasting beckons from a more leisurely post-meridian hour it’s reassuring to find a cosy café full of kindred spirits that‘ll serve you a hearty breakfast - and such was the prevailing ambience at Mess.
Grey skied inclement Hackney is never the most inviting of places, but Mess shone through like a glistening jewel of fat in a good gravy. With deep blue walls and enough pine cladding and furniture to put a Scandinavian sauna to shame it had a busyness that was both warm and inviting - it almost effervesced. Still packed right up til its 4pm closing the menu boasted a range of breakfast fare from the Full E. through to various scrambled egg derivatives.
Choices were made, a full English for me, scrambled eggs with smoked salmon for her, accompanied by subsidiary tea and juices. The ‘Mess breakfast’ came with the usual bacon (crispy), egg (runny), mushrooms (done in a pan with butter) and tomatoes (tomato-y) with the addition of hearty fried potatoes and a mysterious sausage. I say mysterious in that its somewhat standard outer appearance belied a herby meaty inner that was pleasantly surprising. Scrambled eggs came in a freshly-cooked moist pile with a more than generous amount of salmon littering the eggy base, all heaped on good white toast. Service too was excellent, with staff not playing a Big Brother eviction charade as soon as they closed, letting the lethargic linger over post-prandial tea.
Breakfast for two for just shy of a tenner - full marks for both, and happy tummies all round
Tuesday, November 15, 2005
Zigfrid, Hoxton Square
Zigfrid
11 Hoxton Square
N1 6NU
020 7613 1988
www.zigfrid.com
by Blake Pudding
After a night on the port with one of my floozies I took a call from Ed Benedict inviting me to breakfast at Zigfrid. Only an idiot would turn down the opportunity to breakfast with Ed. On my way, between bouts of nausea, I tried to picture what this breakfast might be like. I imagined good quality ingredients, haphazard cookery and off-hand service from pretty, studenty, Estonian waitresses. Was I right? Up to a point.
I ordered the full breakfast which was inexplicably called a 'Rock 'n' Roll'. On being asked by Mr Benedict about a vegetarian option, our waitress (thin, blandly pretty, full of the sad longings) replied that it exists but that no one had seen it - as if it was some kind of chimera that lurked in the bowels of the building. Mr Benedict then asked for his eggs to be well done, egg philistine that he is. The breakfasts arrived and they had solidified my eggs too!! I was speechless with rage but also starving so I manfully bit my tongue and tucked in.
The sausage was a quality item, bursting with delicious piggy goodness. The bacon was good too if a little under done for my tastes. The mushrooms were truly excellent and the eggs, despite their solidity, were poached properly. I started to warm to Zigfrid. Even the potato wedges which I had initially pooh-poohed as a starch too far were delicious. As my hangover subsided and my breakfast went down my mood changed to one of quiet contentment and by the end of the meal I swear I saw our waitress smile.
11 Hoxton Square
N1 6NU
020 7613 1988
www.zigfrid.com
by Blake Pudding
After a night on the port with one of my floozies I took a call from Ed Benedict inviting me to breakfast at Zigfrid. Only an idiot would turn down the opportunity to breakfast with Ed. On my way, between bouts of nausea, I tried to picture what this breakfast might be like. I imagined good quality ingredients, haphazard cookery and off-hand service from pretty, studenty, Estonian waitresses. Was I right? Up to a point.
I ordered the full breakfast which was inexplicably called a 'Rock 'n' Roll'. On being asked by Mr Benedict about a vegetarian option, our waitress (thin, blandly pretty, full of the sad longings) replied that it exists but that no one had seen it - as if it was some kind of chimera that lurked in the bowels of the building. Mr Benedict then asked for his eggs to be well done, egg philistine that he is. The breakfasts arrived and they had solidified my eggs too!! I was speechless with rage but also starving so I manfully bit my tongue and tucked in.
The sausage was a quality item, bursting with delicious piggy goodness. The bacon was good too if a little under done for my tastes. The mushrooms were truly excellent and the eggs, despite their solidity, were poached properly. I started to warm to Zigfrid. Even the potato wedges which I had initially pooh-poohed as a starch too far were delicious. As my hangover subsided and my breakfast went down my mood changed to one of quiet contentment and by the end of the meal I swear I saw our waitress smile.
Friday, November 04, 2005
Rustique, Tufnell Park
Rustique
142 Fortess Road
Tufnell Park
NW5 2HP
020 7692 559
by Blake Pudding
Weary of the £3.50 full English joints of Kentish Town, I headed towards Tufnell Park, to a café called Rustique. I was accompanied by publicist extraordinaire Nicolette Praca. Nicci has worked with the great Jeffrey Steingarten, so she knows a thing or two about food.
I should have been wary of this place billing itself as a 'literary cafe'. The whole place so reeked of pretension, right down to the Edith Piaf on the stereo, it would not have seemed out of place in Greenwich Village. I ordered pancakes with maple syrup and a cafe latté. The pancakes were obviously microwaved from frozen and were accompanied by aerosol cream. Nicci ordered the continental breakfast, which consisted of two small croissants, a tiny amount of jam, portion-controlled butter and three pieces of cheese. The croissants, by the way, were excellent - mainly, I imagine, because the staff had had nothing to do with them.
I hated this place. I hated the smug assumption behind it that because of the faux-bohemian atmosphere and the fact that some of the clientele look a bit like Salman Rushdie that they can get away with atrocious, over-priced food and gormless service. What I hated about it the most was that most of customers seemed content with it. If they noticed how they were being ripped-off then they did not seem to mind. We are often told that this country has undergone a culinary revolution in the last twenty years. The existence of Rustique suggests otherwise.
142 Fortess Road
Tufnell Park
NW5 2HP
020 7692 559
by Blake Pudding
Weary of the £3.50 full English joints of Kentish Town, I headed towards Tufnell Park, to a café called Rustique. I was accompanied by publicist extraordinaire Nicolette Praca. Nicci has worked with the great Jeffrey Steingarten, so she knows a thing or two about food.
I should have been wary of this place billing itself as a 'literary cafe'. The whole place so reeked of pretension, right down to the Edith Piaf on the stereo, it would not have seemed out of place in Greenwich Village. I ordered pancakes with maple syrup and a cafe latté. The pancakes were obviously microwaved from frozen and were accompanied by aerosol cream. Nicci ordered the continental breakfast, which consisted of two small croissants, a tiny amount of jam, portion-controlled butter and three pieces of cheese. The croissants, by the way, were excellent - mainly, I imagine, because the staff had had nothing to do with them.
I hated this place. I hated the smug assumption behind it that because of the faux-bohemian atmosphere and the fact that some of the clientele look a bit like Salman Rushdie that they can get away with atrocious, over-priced food and gormless service. What I hated about it the most was that most of customers seemed content with it. If they noticed how they were being ripped-off then they did not seem to mind. We are often told that this country has undergone a culinary revolution in the last twenty years. The existence of Rustique suggests otherwise.
Thursday, November 03, 2005
Moonbow Jakes, Brockley
Moonbow Jakes
325 Brockley Road
SE4 2QZ
020 8694 9128
www.moonbowjakes.co.uk
by Tommy Kay, Pam Cakes & Sian Flakes
Sitting pretty between the ubiquitous video rental store and local newsagents, it feels like Moonbow Jakes is vying for the title of number one 'Mediterranean-Beatnik-Coffee-House-cum-Caff' in the leafy ‘burb that is Brockley. With its lolloping service (is there table service or not? depends how the staff feel) and saffeast london accent, it kind of manages.
Our tummies were denied the greasy satisfaction that only a fry up can provide, but the sandwich brunch menu on offer proved that if it can’t be done on a sandwich, it ain’t worth doing at all. Between us we sampled the 'Big Breakfast Toastie', containing the holy trinity of breakfast ingredients: eggs (scrambled), bacon and mushrooms, lovingly squashed in wholemeal bread; and the 'Moonbow Muncher': this classic tuna melt probably looked the least appetising but like all ugly ducklings, made up for in taste what it lacked in looks. But it was the 'Double Decker' that was surprise winner of the day. On first inspection the pairing of 2 sandwiches, one with cheese, pineapple and onion, the other a mushroom and sundried tomato seemed like a combination straight out of Abigail’s Party. But it worked - the cheese was suitably gooey, the tomatoes perfectly salty and the bread……oh the bread. As any sandwich aficionado knows, it’s all in the bread.
Our streetside seats provided unexpected entertainment in the form of teenager and traffic watching, and at £9 for 3 of us, you can’t really ask for much more from your local caff; except maybe live music, changing art exhibitions, a wine list and a more grown-up evening mezze menu. All of which you can find at Moonbow Jakes, sliding it into the coveted position of our favourite 'Mediterranean-Beatnik-Coffee-House-cum-Caff' in Brockley.
325 Brockley Road
SE4 2QZ
020 8694 9128
www.moonbowjakes.co.uk
by Tommy Kay, Pam Cakes & Sian Flakes
Sitting pretty between the ubiquitous video rental store and local newsagents, it feels like Moonbow Jakes is vying for the title of number one 'Mediterranean-Beatnik-Coffee-House-cum-Caff' in the leafy ‘burb that is Brockley. With its lolloping service (is there table service or not? depends how the staff feel) and saffeast london accent, it kind of manages.
Our tummies were denied the greasy satisfaction that only a fry up can provide, but the sandwich brunch menu on offer proved that if it can’t be done on a sandwich, it ain’t worth doing at all. Between us we sampled the 'Big Breakfast Toastie', containing the holy trinity of breakfast ingredients: eggs (scrambled), bacon and mushrooms, lovingly squashed in wholemeal bread; and the 'Moonbow Muncher': this classic tuna melt probably looked the least appetising but like all ugly ducklings, made up for in taste what it lacked in looks. But it was the 'Double Decker' that was surprise winner of the day. On first inspection the pairing of 2 sandwiches, one with cheese, pineapple and onion, the other a mushroom and sundried tomato seemed like a combination straight out of Abigail’s Party. But it worked - the cheese was suitably gooey, the tomatoes perfectly salty and the bread……oh the bread. As any sandwich aficionado knows, it’s all in the bread.
Our streetside seats provided unexpected entertainment in the form of teenager and traffic watching, and at £9 for 3 of us, you can’t really ask for much more from your local caff; except maybe live music, changing art exhibitions, a wine list and a more grown-up evening mezze menu. All of which you can find at Moonbow Jakes, sliding it into the coveted position of our favourite 'Mediterranean-Beatnik-Coffee-House-cum-Caff' in Brockley.
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