Bull & Last
168 Highgate Road
Gospel Oak
NW5 1QS
020 7267 8955
by Blake Pudding
I awoke confused and ashamed on New Year's Day promising myself that 2006 would be more dignified than 2005. I had a text message waiting for me from Malcolm Eggs, our visionary leader, suggesting a restorative walk on Hampstead Heath. Imagine my delight when I arrived and discovered who else had been summoned: Sigmund Fried, Ed Benedict, Mabel Syrup and Channel 4's publicity Svengali Toby Jones. This was a meeting of minds not seen since Vienna in the 1920's!
We decided to go for a pint at the Bull and Last near the Heath and in such company it would have been perverse if we did not have breakfast too. If only we had stuck to the booze. First of all the price: £7.95 for a full English Breakfast. Outrageous! For this money you would expect a Medcalf (see earlier review) standard of ingredients. Instead I received some lukewarm tinned mushrooms, a cold tomato that had been near a grill, a piece of dried up over-salty bacon, two sausages and an egg. Of all these horrors the most horrible were the sausages which resembled small fingers that had been partly mangled in a lawn mower and then repaired by a drunken half-wit who had never seen a finger before. Needless to say that they were also cold. This place masquerades as a gastro pub but somewhere that took pride in its food would prefer not to offer anything than to insult its customers by offering such appalling food. Little did they realise that they had picked the wrong table to insult.
Monday, January 30, 2006
Wednesday, January 25, 2006
The Charlotte Street Hotel, Fitzrovia
The Charlotte Street Hotel
15 - 17 Charlotte Street
Fitzrovia
W1 1RJ
020 7806 2000
by Blake Pudding
To the Eagle Bar and Diner on Rathbone Place for a power breakfast with Time Out's literary supremo John O' Connell. It was closed. I think Bar and Diner is a bit of a misnomer if they are not going to serve breakfast in the morning. We hot-footed it instead to the Charlotte Street hotel, where we had suffered some not terribly good breakfast the year before at the hands of the off-hand staff. And would you believe it but we had the same waiter.
I ordered scrambled eggs on toast with bacon. For some peculiar reason the toast arrived long before the eggs and bacon. The bacon was top quality and cooked to perfection but my scrambled eggs tasted like they had been sitting on the hot plate for some time. When I pointed this out to the waiter he shrugged, admitted it was so and smiled in what I am sure he thought was a disarming fashion. He then proceeded to charge me full price for everything with service. This place was about a quarter full of customers and half full of smiling Antipodean staff yet it was impossible to catch anyone's eye.
John thought his pancakes with maple syrup were excellent but was as appalled as I was by the service. It is a shame that the excellent ingredients, good cooking and convivial environment are let down by waiters who think they can avoid working by overdoing the laid-back charm.
15 - 17 Charlotte Street
Fitzrovia
W1 1RJ
020 7806 2000
by Blake Pudding
To the Eagle Bar and Diner on Rathbone Place for a power breakfast with Time Out's literary supremo John O' Connell. It was closed. I think Bar and Diner is a bit of a misnomer if they are not going to serve breakfast in the morning. We hot-footed it instead to the Charlotte Street hotel, where we had suffered some not terribly good breakfast the year before at the hands of the off-hand staff. And would you believe it but we had the same waiter.
I ordered scrambled eggs on toast with bacon. For some peculiar reason the toast arrived long before the eggs and bacon. The bacon was top quality and cooked to perfection but my scrambled eggs tasted like they had been sitting on the hot plate for some time. When I pointed this out to the waiter he shrugged, admitted it was so and smiled in what I am sure he thought was a disarming fashion. He then proceeded to charge me full price for everything with service. This place was about a quarter full of customers and half full of smiling Antipodean staff yet it was impossible to catch anyone's eye.
John thought his pancakes with maple syrup were excellent but was as appalled as I was by the service. It is a shame that the excellent ingredients, good cooking and convivial environment are let down by waiters who think they can avoid working by overdoing the laid-back charm.
Sunday, January 22, 2006
Carluccio's, Fitzrovia
Carluccio's Caffé
8 Market Place
Fitzrovia
W1W 8AG
020 7636 2228
www.carluccios.com
by Dr Sigmund Fried
I’ve been taken out to breakfast before (in the sense of, you know, the other person foots the bill), but this was the first time that it was as a bribe. You see, I’m not what you would call a morning person and so when I was informed by my Swedish lady friend at 2am that we would be getting up for work at 6.30 rather than my usual preference of 9 (her place, her rules), the benign postcoital chit-chat we’d been having suddenly took a turn. In fact, so effective was my expletive-laden remonstrating at the idea of being roused at such an unholy hour, that after five minutes she was moved to exclaim, “for the love of god, Siggy; if you promise to shut up about it I’ll take you to breakfast - I just want to sleep!"
And so it came to be that at 8am the next morning, we were sitting down for breakfast at a table in Carluccio’s, a stylish Italian diner in Market Place. Both of us opted for the ‘Colazione Magnifica’ - comprising scrambled eggs, grilled pancetta, sautéed mushrooms, tomato, toasted ciabatta, juice and tea/coffee, all for a very reasonable £6.95 - and it is to Carluccio’s eternal credit that, so spanking was the refection they delivered, the previous night’s trifles simply receded into the early morning light. For what the meal lacked in size it more than made up for in quality, making it a breakfast that will endure in the memory; which is, alas, more than can be said for the Swede, leaving me, as she did, for a Swiss ski instructor named Bruno just two weeks later.
Mother, it seems, was right about her.
8 Market Place
Fitzrovia
W1W 8AG
020 7636 2228
www.carluccios.com
by Dr Sigmund Fried
I’ve been taken out to breakfast before (in the sense of, you know, the other person foots the bill), but this was the first time that it was as a bribe. You see, I’m not what you would call a morning person and so when I was informed by my Swedish lady friend at 2am that we would be getting up for work at 6.30 rather than my usual preference of 9 (her place, her rules), the benign postcoital chit-chat we’d been having suddenly took a turn. In fact, so effective was my expletive-laden remonstrating at the idea of being roused at such an unholy hour, that after five minutes she was moved to exclaim, “for the love of god, Siggy; if you promise to shut up about it I’ll take you to breakfast - I just want to sleep!"
And so it came to be that at 8am the next morning, we were sitting down for breakfast at a table in Carluccio’s, a stylish Italian diner in Market Place. Both of us opted for the ‘Colazione Magnifica’ - comprising scrambled eggs, grilled pancetta, sautéed mushrooms, tomato, toasted ciabatta, juice and tea/coffee, all for a very reasonable £6.95 - and it is to Carluccio’s eternal credit that, so spanking was the refection they delivered, the previous night’s trifles simply receded into the early morning light. For what the meal lacked in size it more than made up for in quality, making it a breakfast that will endure in the memory; which is, alas, more than can be said for the Swede, leaving me, as she did, for a Swiss ski instructor named Bruno just two weeks later.
Mother, it seems, was right about her.
Monday, January 16, 2006
Balans, Kensington
Balans
187 Kensington High Street
Kensington
W8 6SH
020 7376 0115
by H.P. Seuss
Wondering why anyone should find his character of any particular interest, Vladimir Nabokov remarked: "I present no particular fascination. My habits are simple, my tastes banal. I would not exchange my favorite fare (bacon and eggs, beer) for the most misspelt menu in the world. I irritate my best friends by the relish with which I list the things I hate - nightclubs, yachts, circuses...".
What would the author of Lolita and Pale Fire, who peppered his fiction with fascinating breakfast allusions and wrote the most elegant boiled egg recipe in existence, make of Balans? His beloved eggs, bacon and beer are offered in abundance, but they must be consumed in surroundings uncomfortably close to his loathed nightclubs. Balans is a thronging cocktail bar by night and a humming brasserie by day. The blandly insistent beat music, alas, is a permanent fixture.
Still, much love has gone into the comprehensive breakfast menu, available until 6pm. The muffin family is particularly well represented, with father Benedict and sister Florentine joined by rich Kensington aunts Scallop and Royale. My companion opted for a bubbly Benedict/Florentine hybrid, which, despite an over-abundance of spinach, she declared a near-perfect example of the dish.
I chose the humble fry-up - two eggs (of my choice, over easy), crispy bacon, sausage (nice OCIS), mushrooms, toms and sour dough bread - toasted to crisp oblivion. The black-topped tomatoes also suffered in the over-grilling, but the general quality of the ingredients and refreshing lack of grease still made for a satisfying chew, and the fresh orange juice was most revifying.
But to what end? This is a hard venue to relax in, not helped by snide service staff. At £24 for two, it's also pretty dear. Well-sourced ingredients notwithstanding, juggling breakfasts and cocktails has proved a tricky balansing act. Still, I couldn't spot a single spelling error in the menu.
187 Kensington High Street
Kensington
W8 6SH
020 7376 0115
by H.P. Seuss
Wondering why anyone should find his character of any particular interest, Vladimir Nabokov remarked: "I present no particular fascination. My habits are simple, my tastes banal. I would not exchange my favorite fare (bacon and eggs, beer) for the most misspelt menu in the world. I irritate my best friends by the relish with which I list the things I hate - nightclubs, yachts, circuses...".
What would the author of Lolita and Pale Fire, who peppered his fiction with fascinating breakfast allusions and wrote the most elegant boiled egg recipe in existence, make of Balans? His beloved eggs, bacon and beer are offered in abundance, but they must be consumed in surroundings uncomfortably close to his loathed nightclubs. Balans is a thronging cocktail bar by night and a humming brasserie by day. The blandly insistent beat music, alas, is a permanent fixture.
Still, much love has gone into the comprehensive breakfast menu, available until 6pm. The muffin family is particularly well represented, with father Benedict and sister Florentine joined by rich Kensington aunts Scallop and Royale. My companion opted for a bubbly Benedict/Florentine hybrid, which, despite an over-abundance of spinach, she declared a near-perfect example of the dish.
I chose the humble fry-up - two eggs (of my choice, over easy), crispy bacon, sausage (nice OCIS), mushrooms, toms and sour dough bread - toasted to crisp oblivion. The black-topped tomatoes also suffered in the over-grilling, but the general quality of the ingredients and refreshing lack of grease still made for a satisfying chew, and the fresh orange juice was most revifying.
But to what end? This is a hard venue to relax in, not helped by snide service staff. At £24 for two, it's also pretty dear. Well-sourced ingredients notwithstanding, juggling breakfasts and cocktails has proved a tricky balansing act. Still, I couldn't spot a single spelling error in the menu.
Monday, January 09, 2006
E Pellicci, Bethnal Green
E Pellicci
332 Bethnal Green Rd
Bethnal Green
E2 0AG
020 7739 4873
by Blake Pudding
I woke up in the heart of London's fashionable East End with a pretty Oriental lady and I thought what better way to continue the romance of the night before than by treating her to a slap up meal at Pellicci's. Those of you who have never been here before are in for a treat. The outside is done in an elegant 1940's style in pastel colours with leaded windows. But it is on the inside that you begin to understand why this place is so famous. The first thing to hit you is the heat, the second is the welcome from the staff with their incredible Cockney/Italian accents, but the most remarkable thing is the wood panelling. The whole interior is decked out in a dazzling Art Deco wood veneer. The effect is rather like finding a miniature Chrysler building on Bethnal Green Road.
My companion ordered the steak pie which was excellent, with tender meat and exquisite short crust pastry (though why they have to smother the whole thing in Bisto is beyond me). I ordered the breakfast and it pains me to say this but it was awful. All breakfast crime boxes had been ticked: everything deep-fried everything of the worst quality imaginable. I won't dwell on it because I think this place is rather wonderful and everyone around me seemed to be enjoying themselves so much. So readers, come to Pellicci's, marvel at the welcome, marvel at the interior, try the steak pie, try the lasagne but, for God's sake, avoid the breakfast.
332 Bethnal Green Rd
Bethnal Green
E2 0AG
020 7739 4873
by Blake Pudding
I woke up in the heart of London's fashionable East End with a pretty Oriental lady and I thought what better way to continue the romance of the night before than by treating her to a slap up meal at Pellicci's. Those of you who have never been here before are in for a treat. The outside is done in an elegant 1940's style in pastel colours with leaded windows. But it is on the inside that you begin to understand why this place is so famous. The first thing to hit you is the heat, the second is the welcome from the staff with their incredible Cockney/Italian accents, but the most remarkable thing is the wood panelling. The whole interior is decked out in a dazzling Art Deco wood veneer. The effect is rather like finding a miniature Chrysler building on Bethnal Green Road.
My companion ordered the steak pie which was excellent, with tender meat and exquisite short crust pastry (though why they have to smother the whole thing in Bisto is beyond me). I ordered the breakfast and it pains me to say this but it was awful. All breakfast crime boxes had been ticked: everything deep-fried everything of the worst quality imaginable. I won't dwell on it because I think this place is rather wonderful and everyone around me seemed to be enjoying themselves so much. So readers, come to Pellicci's, marvel at the welcome, marvel at the interior, try the steak pie, try the lasagne but, for God's sake, avoid the breakfast.
Friday, January 06, 2006
Banners, Crouch End
Banners
21 Park Road
Crouch End
N8 8TE
020 8348 2930
www.rubberduckdesign.co.uk/banners/index.html
by Herby Banger
It’s uncommon these days that I have the opportunity to breakfast with my old chum Malcolm Eggs, so on this rare outing we decided to travel to the renowned Banners in Crouch End.
The tone is set by the décor; rock n roll posters adorn the walls while there is an unmistakable South American/Caribbean accent in the music and furnishings. The large and varied menu reflects this; Creole twist here, Mexican angle there. We sat on a raised platform, between us a table and to our left, below the shelf bustling with condiments, a plaque decreeing that Bob Dylan had eaten his breakfast at this very seat back in 1993. Impressive.
Malcolm opted for the 'Meat Fry Up', their version of the Full English… sausages, bacon, beans, mushrooms, tomatoes and eggs interestingly all served on top of crusty bread. The idea I’m told is that by the time you get to the end, all the juice has seeped into the slices leaving you uniquely decadent soggy bread. I went for the 'Banners Potatoes' – fried potatoes mixed with onion and meaty bits of bacon, with two nicely fried eggs placed on top.
Both reasonably priced dishes were enjoyed immensely.
Now Banners is obviously an institution round these parts. You can tell by the adverts for local businesses in the menu, and the fact that they charge you for tap water and donate the money to charity. You have no choice. The other giveaway is the service. Was it relaxed and comforting like a friend who stops by occasionally for a chat and a cuppa, or was it overconfident and aloof? I couldn’t tell… maybe I should chill out and be a bit more like Bob who, according to the article on the wall, also wasn’t particularly enamoured with the service.
21 Park Road
Crouch End
N8 8TE
020 8348 2930
www.rubberduckdesign.co.uk/banners/index.html
by Herby Banger
It’s uncommon these days that I have the opportunity to breakfast with my old chum Malcolm Eggs, so on this rare outing we decided to travel to the renowned Banners in Crouch End.
The tone is set by the décor; rock n roll posters adorn the walls while there is an unmistakable South American/Caribbean accent in the music and furnishings. The large and varied menu reflects this; Creole twist here, Mexican angle there. We sat on a raised platform, between us a table and to our left, below the shelf bustling with condiments, a plaque decreeing that Bob Dylan had eaten his breakfast at this very seat back in 1993. Impressive.
Malcolm opted for the 'Meat Fry Up', their version of the Full English… sausages, bacon, beans, mushrooms, tomatoes and eggs interestingly all served on top of crusty bread. The idea I’m told is that by the time you get to the end, all the juice has seeped into the slices leaving you uniquely decadent soggy bread. I went for the 'Banners Potatoes' – fried potatoes mixed with onion and meaty bits of bacon, with two nicely fried eggs placed on top.
Both reasonably priced dishes were enjoyed immensely.
Now Banners is obviously an institution round these parts. You can tell by the adverts for local businesses in the menu, and the fact that they charge you for tap water and donate the money to charity. You have no choice. The other giveaway is the service. Was it relaxed and comforting like a friend who stops by occasionally for a chat and a cuppa, or was it overconfident and aloof? I couldn’t tell… maybe I should chill out and be a bit more like Bob who, according to the article on the wall, also wasn’t particularly enamoured with the service.
Thursday, January 05, 2006
Gill Wing Café, Highbury
***GILL WING CAFE HAS NOW CLOSED***
Gill Wing Café (also known as Le Café)
300 - 302 St Pauls Road
Highbury
N5
by H.P. Seuss
In the heyday of the transatlantic cruise-liner (1891-1912), when magnificent international floating palaces strode the seas, it was the convention that the French provided lunch and supper while the English catered for breakfast - which, in those days, would as often involve roast beef and potatoes as your more enduring bacon and blood pudding. Though masters of the dinner table, the French, whose waking repast arrives with the disconcerting qualifier "petit", could not be trusted to prepare the passengers for the rigours of sailing with their sugary morning fluff.
It is with trepidation that your serious breakfaster enters a French establishment. Kitted out like an elegant Parisian brasserie, Le Café looks to be a boon for the croissant-stroking philosophe, but not the sort of place I expected to find a serviceable fry-up.
How wrong our prejudices often prove to be. The full English (seven-piece, £4.50, available until 5pm) truly hit the spot. The meats were of excellent quality - the bacon thick and crispy, the sausage an essay in succulence. The deftly fried egg, a veritable Vesuvius, provided bountiful eruptions of yellow goo, while the mushrooms came with a witty whiff of garlic. Even the grease was of the superior, olive order.
Mabel Syrup enjoyed a decadent Eggs Florentine, though other companions complained of a slight turgidity in the omelette. But one failing truly rankled - a lack of orange juice for which no amount of citron pressé could compensate.
Nevertheless, coupled with capable service - who dealt smilingly with our difficult party of eight - this was a superior breakfast experience, and for the price, outstanding. So good, in fact, that the patriot in me wonders whether the French proprietors didn't ship in an Englishman to shape it.
Post-script: A sign on the door announced that Le Café will be closed through January for refurbishment. We can only implore the owners to concentrate on the rather grubby loos - and leave the breakfast intact.
Gill Wing Café (also known as Le Café)
300 - 302 St Pauls Road
Highbury
N5
by H.P. Seuss
In the heyday of the transatlantic cruise-liner (1891-1912), when magnificent international floating palaces strode the seas, it was the convention that the French provided lunch and supper while the English catered for breakfast - which, in those days, would as often involve roast beef and potatoes as your more enduring bacon and blood pudding. Though masters of the dinner table, the French, whose waking repast arrives with the disconcerting qualifier "petit", could not be trusted to prepare the passengers for the rigours of sailing with their sugary morning fluff.
It is with trepidation that your serious breakfaster enters a French establishment. Kitted out like an elegant Parisian brasserie, Le Café looks to be a boon for the croissant-stroking philosophe, but not the sort of place I expected to find a serviceable fry-up.
How wrong our prejudices often prove to be. The full English (seven-piece, £4.50, available until 5pm) truly hit the spot. The meats were of excellent quality - the bacon thick and crispy, the sausage an essay in succulence. The deftly fried egg, a veritable Vesuvius, provided bountiful eruptions of yellow goo, while the mushrooms came with a witty whiff of garlic. Even the grease was of the superior, olive order.
Mabel Syrup enjoyed a decadent Eggs Florentine, though other companions complained of a slight turgidity in the omelette. But one failing truly rankled - a lack of orange juice for which no amount of citron pressé could compensate.
Nevertheless, coupled with capable service - who dealt smilingly with our difficult party of eight - this was a superior breakfast experience, and for the price, outstanding. So good, in fact, that the patriot in me wonders whether the French proprietors didn't ship in an Englishman to shape it.
Post-script: A sign on the door announced that Le Café will be closed through January for refurbishment. We can only implore the owners to concentrate on the rather grubby loos - and leave the breakfast intact.
Tuesday, January 03, 2006
New River Cafe, Stoke Newington
New River Cafe
271 Stoke Newington Church St
Stoke Newington
N16 9JH
020 7923 9842
by Malcolm Eggs
Thanks to Fiona, a reader via Londonist, for pointing us in the direction of the New River Café. It’s on the North end of Stoke Newington Church St, very near to where the Stoke Newington of the jazz dad becomes the Highbury of the folk father, or the Newington Green of the dub uncle. Through enormous windows Mabel Syrup and I watched a cold bright dawdling Wednesday unfold in a post-Christmas Clissold Park stuffed with dogs and children and lightly seasoned with snow and, yes, real-life reindeer. The walls held tinsel-framed mirrors and also paintings, one of a princess on a medieval shore near a palace, another of maritime warfare. It was classic décor ambiguity for a midbrow caff: this was to be a normal breakfast.
All set breakfasts are between £3.20 and £4.85. I asked for a ‘number two’ (sausage, bacon, fried egg, beans, tomato, toast, plus tea or coffee) with extra hash browns, she for the first vegetarian option (vegetarian sausage, scrambled eggs, hash browns, beans, mushrooms, plus tea or coffee). What we received was neither very bad nor very good. My egg was a decent over-easy and the hash browns were the right kind of crunchy. But Mabel’s scrambled egg was overcooked, her mushrooms non-descript and there were tomato-based issues for us both: nebulous, watery tomatoes and over-juiced beans, which threatened to flood the entire plate, even overflow onto the table. The bacon had an undercooked appearance, but it turned out to be recorded specimen (1) of an intriguing phenomenon: ‘closet crispy’.
The plates we left weren’t empty but the walk home was pleasant, briefly joining the 27-mile New River Path from which the café takes its name. A pretension-free breakfast with a nice view but there’s better cooking, we hear, to be sampled in either direction.
271 Stoke Newington Church St
Stoke Newington
N16 9JH
020 7923 9842
by Malcolm Eggs
Thanks to Fiona, a reader via Londonist, for pointing us in the direction of the New River Café. It’s on the North end of Stoke Newington Church St, very near to where the Stoke Newington of the jazz dad becomes the Highbury of the folk father, or the Newington Green of the dub uncle. Through enormous windows Mabel Syrup and I watched a cold bright dawdling Wednesday unfold in a post-Christmas Clissold Park stuffed with dogs and children and lightly seasoned with snow and, yes, real-life reindeer. The walls held tinsel-framed mirrors and also paintings, one of a princess on a medieval shore near a palace, another of maritime warfare. It was classic décor ambiguity for a midbrow caff: this was to be a normal breakfast.
All set breakfasts are between £3.20 and £4.85. I asked for a ‘number two’ (sausage, bacon, fried egg, beans, tomato, toast, plus tea or coffee) with extra hash browns, she for the first vegetarian option (vegetarian sausage, scrambled eggs, hash browns, beans, mushrooms, plus tea or coffee). What we received was neither very bad nor very good. My egg was a decent over-easy and the hash browns were the right kind of crunchy. But Mabel’s scrambled egg was overcooked, her mushrooms non-descript and there were tomato-based issues for us both: nebulous, watery tomatoes and over-juiced beans, which threatened to flood the entire plate, even overflow onto the table. The bacon had an undercooked appearance, but it turned out to be recorded specimen (1) of an intriguing phenomenon: ‘closet crispy’.
The plates we left weren’t empty but the walk home was pleasant, briefly joining the 27-mile New River Path from which the café takes its name. A pretension-free breakfast with a nice view but there’s better cooking, we hear, to be sampled in either direction.
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