Paradise Cafe
129 Holloway Road
Lower Holloway
N7 8LT
020 7607 2886
by Hamish Pastry
The Holloway Road, though not beautiful, scores points in a number of areas. One, it is where that most noble of thoroughfares, the A1, begins. Two, it’s home to a collection, an embarrassment even, of fetish emporiums. Reader, if gimp suits are your thing, head to Holloway forthwith. Thirdly, and most pertinently, it presents a staggering selection of breakfasting opportunities.
At precisely 12.50 the Paradise was packed. An abundance of Arsenal shirts signalled a match in the offing. Despite this it offered a welcoming ambience – warm, clean and well kept with a jaunty décor (one wall blue, one wall peach reader!).
The menu gave a good choice of combos, with a distinct leaning towards the broke breakfaster – Budget, £2.80, Mini £2.50 and the frugal Small, £1.80. Starting with egg, bacon, sausage & chips you lose sausage and then chips as the price drops. The most expensive option is the Double (egg, bacon, sausage, beans, mushroom, tomato & toast, twice) at £4.95. I should mention that all of these come with a tea or coffee as standard.
I opted for the Single (as Double, once, £3.95). The tea was delivered promptly but with the bag still floating. Unsure of how to proceed, I dumped it in the ashtray. Perhaps a breakfasting faux pas, but no matter – I was master of my own brew.
What followed was as fine an example of the greasy spoon breakfast as one could wish for. Egg? Blessedly runny. Bacon? Crispy, not soggy. Sausage? Astonishingly long, not herby but good. Best of all, I was accidentally given double toast – a most welcome error with so much to be mopped.
With plenty of change from a fiver I happily departed Paradise and, observing my bulging waistband, decided to forgo the rubber dress fitting for another day.
Thursday, December 29, 2005
Wednesday, December 28, 2005
Garfunkel's, Heathrow Airport
Garfunkel's
Terminal 4
Heathrow Airport
UB3 5AP
www.garfunkels.co.uk
by Hashley Brown
It is a commonly held misconception in these parts that an early morning flight makes one immune to the effects of the night before. And so it was that I found myself on the wrong side of a night on the rill and the right side of passport control at Heathrow Terminal 4.
Dismayed not to be able to test the mettle of Mr Banger's previous recommendations, I took advice from the coutured lady at the "Caviar & Prunerie" delicatessen and headed for Garfunkel's.
For sheer diner appeal Garfunkel's doesn't do too badly and culled from a shortlist of equally unappealing corporate eateries the offer of a "great british breakfast" quickened this writer's waning pulse. Pot of tea and paper later, my surly waitress delivered a promising start - bacon, sausage, egg, mushrooms, grilled tomatoes and hash brown. Many breakfasts stand or fall on the quality of their egg. In this case however it was an egg masquerading as a trojan horse - a work of art behind which lurked a cowardly excuse for a breakfast.
The egg was perfect, runny and firm in all the right places, but as for the rest! The mushrooms had a faint lemony tang not disimilar to that of a bottle of Cif; the tomatoes had had but the briefest dalliance with a grill and were flavourless to boot; and the sausage whilst appearing plump and meaty concealed a thick layer of yellowing fat beneath its crispy skin.
Even with the promise of exotic shores this breakfast was a disappointment, and today I learned the hard way that one should never trust a lady who sells prunes.
Terminal 4
Heathrow Airport
UB3 5AP
www.garfunkels.co.uk
by Hashley Brown
It is a commonly held misconception in these parts that an early morning flight makes one immune to the effects of the night before. And so it was that I found myself on the wrong side of a night on the rill and the right side of passport control at Heathrow Terminal 4.
Dismayed not to be able to test the mettle of Mr Banger's previous recommendations, I took advice from the coutured lady at the "Caviar & Prunerie" delicatessen and headed for Garfunkel's.
For sheer diner appeal Garfunkel's doesn't do too badly and culled from a shortlist of equally unappealing corporate eateries the offer of a "great british breakfast" quickened this writer's waning pulse. Pot of tea and paper later, my surly waitress delivered a promising start - bacon, sausage, egg, mushrooms, grilled tomatoes and hash brown. Many breakfasts stand or fall on the quality of their egg. In this case however it was an egg masquerading as a trojan horse - a work of art behind which lurked a cowardly excuse for a breakfast.
The egg was perfect, runny and firm in all the right places, but as for the rest! The mushrooms had a faint lemony tang not disimilar to that of a bottle of Cif; the tomatoes had had but the briefest dalliance with a grill and were flavourless to boot; and the sausage whilst appearing plump and meaty concealed a thick layer of yellowing fat beneath its crispy skin.
Even with the promise of exotic shores this breakfast was a disappointment, and today I learned the hard way that one should never trust a lady who sells prunes.
Friday, December 23, 2005
Cafe Euro Med, Kentish Town
Cafe Euro Med
225 Kentish Town Road
Kentish Town
NW5 2JU
020 7267 7761
by Malcolm Eggs
The LRB North London office is in Kentish Town and, intending to rest our quills for a Sunday morning, we thought we’d have an off-duty breakfast in an already approved establishment. But for some arcane reason Brassino and Mario’s were both closed so we reluctantly agreed to give the empty-looking Euro Med another try: reluctantly because our last (pre-LRB) visit had left us with a murky, regretful aftertaste.
An hour later, our cutlery lay shamefully parallel on plates grimly awash with the flotsam and jetsam of a breakfasting disaster. Inedible, slug-like mushrooms, depressed baked beans and fried slices of devious bready manslaughter were all present in the somber medley. We should never have come back.
There were as many waiting staff as customers, but we didn’t get served for an age. Our orders were taken wrongly and the food was undiluted villainy. Two of us who ordered the same vegetarian breakfast received completely different plates of food. Clinging to Ed's Eggs Benedict was a congealed, disgusting excuse for hollandaise sauce. Sigmund remarked that the vegetarian sausage resembled a stool sample.
If (and only if) you feel like paying for a disdainful slap in the face, Café Euro Med could be the place for you.
225 Kentish Town Road
Kentish Town
NW5 2JU
020 7267 7761
by Malcolm Eggs
The LRB North London office is in Kentish Town and, intending to rest our quills for a Sunday morning, we thought we’d have an off-duty breakfast in an already approved establishment. But for some arcane reason Brassino and Mario’s were both closed so we reluctantly agreed to give the empty-looking Euro Med another try: reluctantly because our last (pre-LRB) visit had left us with a murky, regretful aftertaste.
An hour later, our cutlery lay shamefully parallel on plates grimly awash with the flotsam and jetsam of a breakfasting disaster. Inedible, slug-like mushrooms, depressed baked beans and fried slices of devious bready manslaughter were all present in the somber medley. We should never have come back.
There were as many waiting staff as customers, but we didn’t get served for an age. Our orders were taken wrongly and the food was undiluted villainy. Two of us who ordered the same vegetarian breakfast received completely different plates of food. Clinging to Ed's Eggs Benedict was a congealed, disgusting excuse for hollandaise sauce. Sigmund remarked that the vegetarian sausage resembled a stool sample.
If (and only if) you feel like paying for a disdainful slap in the face, Café Euro Med could be the place for you.
Tuesday, December 20, 2005
Pullen's Dining Room, Herne Hill
Pullen's Dining Room
293 - 295 Railton Rd
Herne Hill
SE24 0LR
020 7274 9163
by Gracie Spoon
A mind teeming with hangover needs a dark, slow place to calm its nerves. And a body surprised by its own possibility for drunkeness needs a robust breakfast to reassure. Such was the appeal of Pullens, whose murky lighting and solid furniture provided a welcome sense of cosy permanence that is often lacking in more styled cafes.
From an appealing menu, Eggs Florentine (£6.95) and an All Day Breakfast (£6.50) were chosen… though conveying this to the people responsible for acting on our decisions took some time. Although this slow service fed into an all-round atmosphere of unhurried amiability, we more than once found ourselves shuffling in our seats and blinking endearingly at the staff for attention.
Once ordered, the food arrived at a normal pace. Surprise reigned though, as a sizzling bowl of hot cheese was put down and I tried to remember what I had chosen. The precise rules of Eggs Florentine are unclear to me, but I had believed they might include something about a muffin? Nonetheless, the power of suggestion on a frail mind is a powerful thing and in that moment, hot cheese soup was exactly where I was at. Eggs and spinach soon emerged from the soup, and while not as fresh, or as carby as I’d visualised, the grease and sizzle of the thing turned out to be a more than acceptable hangover cure. Meanwhile, I’m told the All Day Breakfast looked better than it tasted.
If the food was only okay, Pullens is still a reliable and kindly place to while away a breakfast and soothe a jittery head, though it's probably best to arm yourself with plenty of circuitous chat, as the whiling could go on for some time.
293 - 295 Railton Rd
Herne Hill
SE24 0LR
020 7274 9163
by Gracie Spoon
A mind teeming with hangover needs a dark, slow place to calm its nerves. And a body surprised by its own possibility for drunkeness needs a robust breakfast to reassure. Such was the appeal of Pullens, whose murky lighting and solid furniture provided a welcome sense of cosy permanence that is often lacking in more styled cafes.
From an appealing menu, Eggs Florentine (£6.95) and an All Day Breakfast (£6.50) were chosen… though conveying this to the people responsible for acting on our decisions took some time. Although this slow service fed into an all-round atmosphere of unhurried amiability, we more than once found ourselves shuffling in our seats and blinking endearingly at the staff for attention.
Once ordered, the food arrived at a normal pace. Surprise reigned though, as a sizzling bowl of hot cheese was put down and I tried to remember what I had chosen. The precise rules of Eggs Florentine are unclear to me, but I had believed they might include something about a muffin? Nonetheless, the power of suggestion on a frail mind is a powerful thing and in that moment, hot cheese soup was exactly where I was at. Eggs and spinach soon emerged from the soup, and while not as fresh, or as carby as I’d visualised, the grease and sizzle of the thing turned out to be a more than acceptable hangover cure. Meanwhile, I’m told the All Day Breakfast looked better than it tasted.
If the food was only okay, Pullens is still a reliable and kindly place to while away a breakfast and soothe a jittery head, though it's probably best to arm yourself with plenty of circuitous chat, as the whiling could go on for some time.
Thursday, December 15, 2005
Medcalf, Clerkenwell
**NOT CURRENTLY SERVING BREAKFAST**
40 Exmouth Market
Clerkenwell
EC1R 4QE
020 7833 3533
www.medcalfbar.co.uk
by Blake Pudding
I have to confess an acquaintance here. I met the head chef of Medcalf Tim Wilson in Edinburgh a few months ago and we got royally drunk together. Furthermore, I have known the assistant chef Andrew "Hoggy" Hogg since I was born. At the LRB, however, we pride ourselves on our scrupulous objectivity - an establishment will stand, or fall, on the quality of its breakfast. For this visit I was with Ed Benedict and the doyenne of the craft renaissance Danielle Proud.
The quality of the ingredients here was never in doubt. The bacon was dry-cured and well-flavoured, the large field mushroom divine, the black pudding addictively nutty and the slow roasted tomatoes were worth travelling from Balham to try (not that I live in Balham). Any problems? The excellent grilled sourdough bread that accompanied the meal was inexplicably drizzled with olive oil; butter or dripping would have been preferable. Ed complained that his scrambled eggs were too runny but, as I have mentioned before on this site, Mr Benedict has odd tastes in eggs. I had a more pertinent eggy complaint in that my egg was brown on one side and still raw on the other. This would have been acceptable in a Green Lanes greasy spoon but when I am paying £8.50 then this is inexcusable. Ed's smoked salmon and scrambled eggs came in at £6.95. Here lies the problem with Medcalf; the prices suggest perfection whereas the food is merely very good.
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
The Peckham Experiment, Peckham
The Peckham Experiment
168 Bellenden Road
Peckham
SE15 4BW
0207 2529424
by Herby Banger
For as long as I can remember Peckham has been considered “Up and Coming” – and Bellenden Rd is the embodiment of this warped ethos, having slowly removed the local smells and sounds and replaced them with coffee, yoga and higher house prices.
The Peckham Experiment is a café/restaurant that sits on this bland row. After seeing the blackboard outside I ventured in. After an inexcusably long time I was served, ordering their Full English and a latte. So far so normal.
Then the plate arrived and at first glace I could barely contain my shock. I physically felt myself flush with desperation. A weaker man might have wept, for this was an expensive breakfast, but what greeted me was an abomination. Where do I start? Perhaps the diced mushrooms and their accompanying juice. This dark grey liquid had infected every inch of the plate's surface: the toast was so heavily laden with it that upon physical contact it broke and crumbled like soggy sick. The beans were barely warm, and the bacon had scarcely touched the pan. As if matters could not get worse, I then noticed that they had forgotten to include the fried eggs. Outrageous! I should have cut and run right there: ‘forget the money’ I thought… but no, I had to make my point. An obvious mistake, so it was only a mild bombshell when not two minutes later the dish returned, this time with hurriedly undercooked eggs.
I was inconsolable. What hurt the most is that they seemed to have created a breakfast without any care for the basic craft of cooking. Walking away, stomach and wallet badly effected, I was left to rue my misfortune. Without doubt the worst, most insipid excuse for a breakfast I have ever encountered.
168 Bellenden Road
Peckham
SE15 4BW
0207 2529424
by Herby Banger
For as long as I can remember Peckham has been considered “Up and Coming” – and Bellenden Rd is the embodiment of this warped ethos, having slowly removed the local smells and sounds and replaced them with coffee, yoga and higher house prices.
The Peckham Experiment is a café/restaurant that sits on this bland row. After seeing the blackboard outside I ventured in. After an inexcusably long time I was served, ordering their Full English and a latte. So far so normal.
Then the plate arrived and at first glace I could barely contain my shock. I physically felt myself flush with desperation. A weaker man might have wept, for this was an expensive breakfast, but what greeted me was an abomination. Where do I start? Perhaps the diced mushrooms and their accompanying juice. This dark grey liquid had infected every inch of the plate's surface: the toast was so heavily laden with it that upon physical contact it broke and crumbled like soggy sick. The beans were barely warm, and the bacon had scarcely touched the pan. As if matters could not get worse, I then noticed that they had forgotten to include the fried eggs. Outrageous! I should have cut and run right there: ‘forget the money’ I thought… but no, I had to make my point. An obvious mistake, so it was only a mild bombshell when not two minutes later the dish returned, this time with hurriedly undercooked eggs.
I was inconsolable. What hurt the most is that they seemed to have created a breakfast without any care for the basic craft of cooking. Walking away, stomach and wallet badly effected, I was left to rue my misfortune. Without doubt the worst, most insipid excuse for a breakfast I have ever encountered.
Monday, December 12, 2005
Canteen, Spitalfields
Canteen
2 Crispin Place
Spitalfields
E1 6DW
0845 686 1122
www.canteen.co.uk
by Cathy Latte
On certain Monday Mornings, when the week stretches ahead like an assault course from Takehashi’s Castle, a breakfast that’s anything short of exceptional could prove disastrous. So it was with dry mouths and racing hearts that Malcolm Eggs and myself took a gamble on the highly praised Canteen restaurant, which recently opened and sits between idiosyncratic Old Spitalfields Market and modern, city-facing Bishops Square. If Hopper were to have painted ‘Nighthawks’ in 2005, albeit against a backdrop of an East London shopping development, then it would have looked like Canteen. Floor-to-ceiling goldfish-bowl windows lined with fuzzyfelt green booths plus central communal bench seating makes the place look lifted straight from the pages of Wallpaper magazine.
On arrival we were greeted with luminous smiles from achingly attractive staff. We plumped for crumpets and marmalade, Cumberland sausage and roast onion sandwich, two pots of tea each and – as a cavalier extra – fresh ginger, carrot and apple juices.
Malcolm is very particular about his crumpets and to his relief the ones served here were suitably firm and the accompanying marmalade homemade. As for the sandwich, the natural-skinned sausages were translucent and succulent and the onions were plentiful, all served aloft a tasty toasted loaf. For all day breakfast lovers and those with a propensity for rising late there’s good news in the fact that breakfast is served from morning until close. But if the late rising is a symptom of studenthood or unemployment, there’s bad news in the form of the price. Our modest little breakfast (inc.12.5% service) cost £23! As we rummaged reluctantly for our credit cards we noted over furrowed brows that whilst super it was a breakfast most definitely reserved for the start of the month.
2 Crispin Place
Spitalfields
E1 6DW
0845 686 1122
www.canteen.co.uk
by Cathy Latte
On certain Monday Mornings, when the week stretches ahead like an assault course from Takehashi’s Castle, a breakfast that’s anything short of exceptional could prove disastrous. So it was with dry mouths and racing hearts that Malcolm Eggs and myself took a gamble on the highly praised Canteen restaurant, which recently opened and sits between idiosyncratic Old Spitalfields Market and modern, city-facing Bishops Square. If Hopper were to have painted ‘Nighthawks’ in 2005, albeit against a backdrop of an East London shopping development, then it would have looked like Canteen. Floor-to-ceiling goldfish-bowl windows lined with fuzzyfelt green booths plus central communal bench seating makes the place look lifted straight from the pages of Wallpaper magazine.
On arrival we were greeted with luminous smiles from achingly attractive staff. We plumped for crumpets and marmalade, Cumberland sausage and roast onion sandwich, two pots of tea each and – as a cavalier extra – fresh ginger, carrot and apple juices.
Malcolm is very particular about his crumpets and to his relief the ones served here were suitably firm and the accompanying marmalade homemade. As for the sandwich, the natural-skinned sausages were translucent and succulent and the onions were plentiful, all served aloft a tasty toasted loaf. For all day breakfast lovers and those with a propensity for rising late there’s good news in the fact that breakfast is served from morning until close. But if the late rising is a symptom of studenthood or unemployment, there’s bad news in the form of the price. Our modest little breakfast (inc.12.5% service) cost £23! As we rummaged reluctantly for our credit cards we noted over furrowed brows that whilst super it was a breakfast most definitely reserved for the start of the month.
Saturday, December 10, 2005
The Elk in the Woods, Islington
The Elk in the Woods
37 Camden Passage
Islington
N1 8EA
020 7226 3535
www.the-elk-in-the-woods.co.uk
by Ed Benedict
It was a Saturday morning: the Elk in the Woods was very busy and the music was inexcusably loud (and bad). The breakfast menu was limited but acceptable, containing a full English, a full Veggie (both £6.95) and, for some reason, perhaps to cater for all those Islington 'bohos', two slices of coconut bread (£3).
My expectations were high. The place seemed sophisticated and expensive and the clientele were clearly of the wealthy middle-class media variety. I ordered the full Veggie and asked for no grilled tomatoes or corn on the cob (too much effort to eat first thing in the morning), plus extra mushrooms. I also made clear my extreme aversion to runny yolk and asked for my fried eggs to be VERY well done. The waiter nodded enthusiastically. However, when my breakfast arrived, the yolk was clearly wobbling and when, in the forensic spirit, I pierced it with my fork, there was no denying it: the yolk positively gushed. I asked the waiter if the eggs could be cooked a bit more and twenty minutes later my breakfast reappeared. The eggs were well-done, if not a little incinerated.
You’d think in those twenty minutes they’d have had the time to toast the bread on both sides - but one side was lightly toasted and the other looked as though it had accidently been dropped on a grill and then quickly thrown on the plate in mortal fear of toasting it properly. The Veggie sausages were of the 'Birds Eye' variety and the peas and potato were mushed together into a sausage shape, but were actually surprisingly tasty. I couldn’t justify sitting around reading the papers as people were hovering around, coveting our table. And besides, there’s only so much Jamiroquai I can handle.
37 Camden Passage
Islington
N1 8EA
020 7226 3535
www.the-elk-in-the-woods.co.uk
by Ed Benedict
It was a Saturday morning: the Elk in the Woods was very busy and the music was inexcusably loud (and bad). The breakfast menu was limited but acceptable, containing a full English, a full Veggie (both £6.95) and, for some reason, perhaps to cater for all those Islington 'bohos', two slices of coconut bread (£3).
My expectations were high. The place seemed sophisticated and expensive and the clientele were clearly of the wealthy middle-class media variety. I ordered the full Veggie and asked for no grilled tomatoes or corn on the cob (too much effort to eat first thing in the morning), plus extra mushrooms. I also made clear my extreme aversion to runny yolk and asked for my fried eggs to be VERY well done. The waiter nodded enthusiastically. However, when my breakfast arrived, the yolk was clearly wobbling and when, in the forensic spirit, I pierced it with my fork, there was no denying it: the yolk positively gushed. I asked the waiter if the eggs could be cooked a bit more and twenty minutes later my breakfast reappeared. The eggs were well-done, if not a little incinerated.
You’d think in those twenty minutes they’d have had the time to toast the bread on both sides - but one side was lightly toasted and the other looked as though it had accidently been dropped on a grill and then quickly thrown on the plate in mortal fear of toasting it properly. The Veggie sausages were of the 'Birds Eye' variety and the peas and potato were mushed together into a sausage shape, but were actually surprisingly tasty. I couldn’t justify sitting around reading the papers as people were hovering around, coveting our table. And besides, there’s only so much Jamiroquai I can handle.
Thursday, December 08, 2005
TJ's, Mortlake
TJ’s
57 Sheen Lane
Mortlake
SW14 8AB
020 8605 3555
by Mustapha Sausage
This is standard café business - no frills, a cross section of locals and multiple copies of all the regular newspapers scattered around the place. The staff can be a tad coarse but were friendly enough for 9am on a Sunday.
I ordered cheese on toast with two poached eggs, additional beans and a cup of tea. My vegetarian pal surprised me by joining me on this slightly irregular choice, while her ever-optimistic boyfriend hit the ‘Big Breakfast’. He was asked to choose five breakfast items from a list of around nine and did so wisely, putting together a basic fry up, choosing black pudding over sausage.
Vege-pal and I were swiftly presented with an underwhelming interpretation of our order: white sliced bread blanketed in far too much cheddar cheese with eggs and beans both over-cooked. The spongy bread had been absorbing the fat from the cheese and toast it was not! While I was very hungry and managed most of it, she wasn’t so forgiving and retired back to the Observer lifestyle supplement after eating only a third.
On the other hand, optimistic boyfriend (who’d had a slightly longer wait) was very happy with his. The eggs and beans were far better and the black pudding was excellent.
Overall this place delivers the basic goods and certainly seems popular with the locals. My tip is: stick to the basic formula and you shouldn’t be too disappointed.
57 Sheen Lane
Mortlake
SW14 8AB
020 8605 3555
by Mustapha Sausage
This is standard café business - no frills, a cross section of locals and multiple copies of all the regular newspapers scattered around the place. The staff can be a tad coarse but were friendly enough for 9am on a Sunday.
I ordered cheese on toast with two poached eggs, additional beans and a cup of tea. My vegetarian pal surprised me by joining me on this slightly irregular choice, while her ever-optimistic boyfriend hit the ‘Big Breakfast’. He was asked to choose five breakfast items from a list of around nine and did so wisely, putting together a basic fry up, choosing black pudding over sausage.
Vege-pal and I were swiftly presented with an underwhelming interpretation of our order: white sliced bread blanketed in far too much cheddar cheese with eggs and beans both over-cooked. The spongy bread had been absorbing the fat from the cheese and toast it was not! While I was very hungry and managed most of it, she wasn’t so forgiving and retired back to the Observer lifestyle supplement after eating only a third.
On the other hand, optimistic boyfriend (who’d had a slightly longer wait) was very happy with his. The eggs and beans were far better and the black pudding was excellent.
Overall this place delivers the basic goods and certainly seems popular with the locals. My tip is: stick to the basic formula and you shouldn’t be too disappointed.
Wednesday, December 07, 2005
Hackney City Farm, Hackney
Hackney City Farm (Frizzante Cafe)
1a Goldsmith's Row
E2 8QA
020 7729 6381
www.hackneycityfarm.co.uk
by Dr Sigmund Fried
After succesfully negotiating our way through the jazz dad-with-pram/bicycle-infested assault course that is London Fields, our afternoon breakfasting party finally made it to its destination. "Do you like farm animals? They let you choose your own pig and then kill it and cook it right in front of you," was how one mendacious and pork-obsessed friend tried to sell the idea of brekking at Hackney City Farm. But he needn't have gone to the trouble of trying to lure me in with such Fearnley Whittingstall-esque dreams. He already had me at "farm animals".
Once in, any fears about whether it would be overrun with 30-something men drinking lattés and discussing the relative merits of Wynton Marsalis were soon allayed: it was actually pleasingly unpretentious with friendly staff and an interior that I can only describe as 'scout hut chic'.
After finding a table in a lovely heated and covered outdoors bit with sawdust on the floor, we ordered at the counter. Having all of us built up a no-breakfast/beer-on-an-empty-stomach appetite, none of us were ever going to go off-piste, menu-wise: too risky. No, all we wanted was a traditional, honest and well cooked fried breakfast, and that indeed is what we got: not by any means gourmet, but certainly a cut above your average greasy spooner, and reasonably priced at £5.50.
Add to that a quaint farmyard (which we spent a good twenty minutes wandering around) at the back of the building with, among other things, pigs (massive), rabbits (furry) and geese (kept my distance), I'm pretty sure a better way to spend a lazy Saturday afternoon in Hackney is hard to find.
1a Goldsmith's Row
E2 8QA
020 7729 6381
www.hackneycityfarm.co.uk
by Dr Sigmund Fried
After succesfully negotiating our way through the jazz dad-with-pram/bicycle-infested assault course that is London Fields, our afternoon breakfasting party finally made it to its destination. "Do you like farm animals? They let you choose your own pig and then kill it and cook it right in front of you," was how one mendacious and pork-obsessed friend tried to sell the idea of brekking at Hackney City Farm. But he needn't have gone to the trouble of trying to lure me in with such Fearnley Whittingstall-esque dreams. He already had me at "farm animals".
Once in, any fears about whether it would be overrun with 30-something men drinking lattés and discussing the relative merits of Wynton Marsalis were soon allayed: it was actually pleasingly unpretentious with friendly staff and an interior that I can only describe as 'scout hut chic'.
After finding a table in a lovely heated and covered outdoors bit with sawdust on the floor, we ordered at the counter. Having all of us built up a no-breakfast/beer-on-an-empty-stomach appetite, none of us were ever going to go off-piste, menu-wise: too risky. No, all we wanted was a traditional, honest and well cooked fried breakfast, and that indeed is what we got: not by any means gourmet, but certainly a cut above your average greasy spooner, and reasonably priced at £5.50.
Add to that a quaint farmyard (which we spent a good twenty minutes wandering around) at the back of the building with, among other things, pigs (massive), rabbits (furry) and geese (kept my distance), I'm pretty sure a better way to spend a lazy Saturday afternoon in Hackney is hard to find.
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