Goodfare, Camden Town
Goodfare
26 Parkway
Camden Town
NW1 7AH
020 7485 2230
Breakfast served: 8am - 10.30pm
by Malcolm Eggs
It was a bright cold day in April, and my mobile phone said 13:00. Mabel and I, our hands nuzzled into our pockets to escape the mild drizzle, slipped quickly through the glass door of Goodfare. The room smelt of tea, roast beef and clean aprons. A tinny music was trickling from the sandwich counter and we sat at a table by the big window. An old waitress, working the room with a sort of military precision, approached us and we ordered.
Now if you want a picture of my Goodfare breakfast, imagine a glass of tap water being delivered--immediately. Imagine an omelette, slightly curved on one side, flat on the other, making almost the shape of a waxing farm moon. There was a pleasing oiliness, as of a good antiques dealer, in both the egg and the cheese. Through it all, magnified by grease, were comforting, pink, succulent bits of bacon that recalled rose petals or Danish flags. The taste was delightful. Mabel was eating bacon, egg, sausage and tomato. 'Yes, I like that,' she said.
I gazed out at Camden, the Town once inhabited by the great Eric Arthur Blair. Thirty years it had taken me to learn what kind of breakfast was hidden on those dark streets. Two final sips of tea trickled down the sides of my throat. It was alright, everything was alright, the breakfast was finished. Once more I had won the victory over my incessant peckishness. I loved Goodfare.
26 Parkway
Camden Town
NW1 7AH
020 7485 2230
Breakfast served: 8am - 10.30pm
by Malcolm Eggs
It was a bright cold day in April, and my mobile phone said 13:00. Mabel and I, our hands nuzzled into our pockets to escape the mild drizzle, slipped quickly through the glass door of Goodfare. The room smelt of tea, roast beef and clean aprons. A tinny music was trickling from the sandwich counter and we sat at a table by the big window. An old waitress, working the room with a sort of military precision, approached us and we ordered.
Now if you want a picture of my Goodfare breakfast, imagine a glass of tap water being delivered--immediately. Imagine an omelette, slightly curved on one side, flat on the other, making almost the shape of a waxing farm moon. There was a pleasing oiliness, as of a good antiques dealer, in both the egg and the cheese. Through it all, magnified by grease, were comforting, pink, succulent bits of bacon that recalled rose petals or Danish flags. The taste was delightful. Mabel was eating bacon, egg, sausage and tomato. 'Yes, I like that,' she said.
I gazed out at Camden, the Town once inhabited by the great Eric Arthur Blair. Thirty years it had taken me to learn what kind of breakfast was hidden on those dark streets. Two final sips of tea trickled down the sides of my throat. It was alright, everything was alright, the breakfast was finished. Once more I had won the victory over my incessant peckishness. I loved Goodfare.
posted by London Review of Breakfasts |
8:57 AM |
1 Comments:
But don't stay for lunch - the pasta with tinned peas and spam was not a carefully prepared, well thought-out dish.
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