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.
posted by London Review of Breakfasts |
8:42 PM |
1 Comments:
You never call, you never write. Is it too much to ask for a call once in while?
Mrs Fried
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