The Blue Legume, Stoke Newington
The Blue Legume
101 Stoke Newington Church Street
Stoke Newington
N16 0UD
020 7923 1303
by H.P. Seuss
Landlord! Thinkst me a vagabond that thou wouldst have me beg for bacon? Thou'lt beg my pardon! Thinkst me a donkey that thou wouldst fill my trough with compost? I'll make an ass of thee! And thinkst me a honeybee that thou wouldst make me hunt for yolk like the sole daisy in fifty acres of grass? Buzz off!
Funny how you only think of what you wanted to say after the moment has passed. Eloquence escaped me for the ever-thronging Blue Legume had thrice vexed me.
For one, their Cumberland Breakfast did not come with bacon; I had to pay extra for this essential component to join the eponymous sausage. For two, the vegetables were too abundant, making the latter stages of consumption
monotonously meatless. For three, the poached egg arrived floundering in a field of salad (salad!), assailed by lemon dressing which further threatened the beans. I had immediately to prepare a life-raft of toast and airlift the sorry vessel away.
That The Blue Legume should have such a veg-centric philosophy might be gleaned from its name, or indeed the preponderance of wholegrain mothers treating their free-range children to granola pies. Indeed, I had prepared
myself for meat-denial, and but for my need for something more substantial would have ordered the delicious-looking pancakes with fresh fruit.
However, on dipping the virile, honeyed bacon into the exuberant, amber yolk of the egg, my consternation turned to astonishment. This was one of the finest egg/bacon duets I have ever experienced horribly compromised, like Nureyev and Fonteyn dancing a pas de deux in a village pilates class.
Landlords! Take heed! However fresh your fruit and yummy your mummies, if breakfast ye serve, forget ye not the primacy of the bacon and the primacy of the egg.
101 Stoke Newington Church Street
Stoke Newington
N16 0UD
020 7923 1303
by H.P. Seuss
Landlord! Thinkst me a vagabond that thou wouldst have me beg for bacon? Thou'lt beg my pardon! Thinkst me a donkey that thou wouldst fill my trough with compost? I'll make an ass of thee! And thinkst me a honeybee that thou wouldst make me hunt for yolk like the sole daisy in fifty acres of grass? Buzz off!
Funny how you only think of what you wanted to say after the moment has passed. Eloquence escaped me for the ever-thronging Blue Legume had thrice vexed me.
For one, their Cumberland Breakfast did not come with bacon; I had to pay extra for this essential component to join the eponymous sausage. For two, the vegetables were too abundant, making the latter stages of consumption
monotonously meatless. For three, the poached egg arrived floundering in a field of salad (salad!), assailed by lemon dressing which further threatened the beans. I had immediately to prepare a life-raft of toast and airlift the sorry vessel away.
That The Blue Legume should have such a veg-centric philosophy might be gleaned from its name, or indeed the preponderance of wholegrain mothers treating their free-range children to granola pies. Indeed, I had prepared
myself for meat-denial, and but for my need for something more substantial would have ordered the delicious-looking pancakes with fresh fruit.
However, on dipping the virile, honeyed bacon into the exuberant, amber yolk of the egg, my consternation turned to astonishment. This was one of the finest egg/bacon duets I have ever experienced horribly compromised, like Nureyev and Fonteyn dancing a pas de deux in a village pilates class.
Landlords! Take heed! However fresh your fruit and yummy your mummies, if breakfast ye serve, forget ye not the primacy of the bacon and the primacy of the egg.
posted by London Review of Breakfasts |
8:08 AM |
6 Comments:
the usual 'where's my nanny?' from the Breakfast Fascists - they probably complained when they had only one egg at conception and that spermatazoa was being used as a poor man's substitute for caviar. Delirious.
If eating here the best thing on the menu is the egss benedict, it's rather goor
Yeah, if you can get served. And if your food arrives. And if when it arrives your food is not cold. And if when your companion's food doesn't arrive and they offer a free drink on complaint, the fucking drink arrives. Just then, maybe the eggs benedict is the best thing on the menu (because it certainly isn't the *waffles) but personally I would rather go next door to Clicia or round the corner to Z bar.
Oh yes, eggs benedict or the european breakfast (spicy sausage, haloumi, a perfect poached egg and a side of toast and jam - an unusual combination but a truly delicious one).
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May I make a recommendation for the Welsh Rarebit, which is pleasantly gloopy and wholegrain-mustardy, and is particularly splendid when topped with a poached egg. And, indeed, the Croque Monsieur (or Madame, with the addition of an egg), both coming atop thick slabs of grainy brown toast - and, of course, the ubiquitous Blue Legume salad-and-fruit combo
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