Café Z Bar, Stoke Newington
Café Z Bar
58 Stoke Newington High Street
Stoke Newington
N16 7PB
020 7275 7523
by Orva Easy
It was alone and shamefaced that I slunk into the Z-bar, armed only with an oversized newspaper to protect me from my monstrous hen-party hangover. It was already packed, even on the wrong side of Sunday lunchtime. I had barely brought my gin-crossed eyes to focus before I was hustled by the waitress. Set 15 please: halloumi, mushrooms, spicy sausage, fried egg, salad, Turkish bread. Tea. And a mixed juice. God. Please.
The tea appeared first, in a stupid trendy mug. Its spectacularly badly-designed handle was perfectly round, highly glazed and tubular, which meant that the middle finger crooked underneath slid inexorably towards the scalding hot cup every time I picked it up. It was infuriating. And you couldn’t stop it. I hate those mugs! Apoplexy threatened as I struggled in vain with burning fingers. Bread arrived, a vast basket of the stuff as big as the table. The mixed juice looked like it came out of a bilge pump. I left it to settle. The breakfast itself was carefully arranged on the stark white plate like a Bloomsbury still-life, the sausage a saucy salami-pink, balanced on the other side by three golden-tinged slices of halloumi, a cluster of button mushrooms gleaming between them.
Ah, halloumi! It was everything it ought to be – mouth-fillingly buttery and pleasingly squeaky on the teeth. Juicy, gamey sausages with a hint of spice cut through the rich, cloudy egg, though it tasted a bit disgusting in a forkful with the mushrooms. Which explains why you don’t get mushrooms much in Turkey.
I perked up, enjoying my tingling billiousness. I drank my scum-topped but actually rather nice mixed juice and felt healed by a decent, if now slightly cool cup of builders’. I will be back next week. But I’m taking my own damned mug.
58 Stoke Newington High Street
Stoke Newington
N16 7PB
020 7275 7523
by Orva Easy
It was alone and shamefaced that I slunk into the Z-bar, armed only with an oversized newspaper to protect me from my monstrous hen-party hangover. It was already packed, even on the wrong side of Sunday lunchtime. I had barely brought my gin-crossed eyes to focus before I was hustled by the waitress. Set 15 please: halloumi, mushrooms, spicy sausage, fried egg, salad, Turkish bread. Tea. And a mixed juice. God. Please.
The tea appeared first, in a stupid trendy mug. Its spectacularly badly-designed handle was perfectly round, highly glazed and tubular, which meant that the middle finger crooked underneath slid inexorably towards the scalding hot cup every time I picked it up. It was infuriating. And you couldn’t stop it. I hate those mugs! Apoplexy threatened as I struggled in vain with burning fingers. Bread arrived, a vast basket of the stuff as big as the table. The mixed juice looked like it came out of a bilge pump. I left it to settle. The breakfast itself was carefully arranged on the stark white plate like a Bloomsbury still-life, the sausage a saucy salami-pink, balanced on the other side by three golden-tinged slices of halloumi, a cluster of button mushrooms gleaming between them.
Ah, halloumi! It was everything it ought to be – mouth-fillingly buttery and pleasingly squeaky on the teeth. Juicy, gamey sausages with a hint of spice cut through the rich, cloudy egg, though it tasted a bit disgusting in a forkful with the mushrooms. Which explains why you don’t get mushrooms much in Turkey.
I perked up, enjoying my tingling billiousness. I drank my scum-topped but actually rather nice mixed juice and felt healed by a decent, if now slightly cool cup of builders’. I will be back next week. But I’m taking my own damned mug.
posted by London Review of Breakfasts |
12:19 PM |
3 Comments:
This became a regular for my partner and I after seeing the sun come up one too many times. Dry mouthed and heavy headed and dreading anything other than a darkened room we rarely managed to finish everything on our plates but never failed to leave feeling a little more human and ready to climb the 5 flights of stairs to the flat. It's just a shame we moved to the other side of the park and haven't been back in months.
I ate here on the weekend and went for the menemem (Turkish scrambled eggs). It really was the perfect weekend brunch or hangover breakfast, and the salty feta went down really well. I definitely think it offers one of London's best brunches and have just seen that it is listed on this food map http://www.discount-london.com/tastesoflondon.htm as one of London's best places to eat!? What do you think - do you agree??
Not really happy with the outcome. Service was great at the start until I had starting eating my food. I had got half way through my food to find 3 types of different hair on my bacon and two on the plate. I am olive skin with light brown hair and blonde arm hair so was definitely not mine as it was dark black. I called the waitress over and she was very apologetic and highlighted it to the manager, then came back and said that's fine we will not charge you. Would u like a drink also on the house I said it's fine just get a coffee and I will pay for that at least as I felt bad because the waitress that served me was very nice. As I went to pay they tried to charge me the full price and put the coffee on the house. I was in shock how they could try to charge for the food which is so cheeky. I said there is no way I will pay for that. I then said I will pay for the coffee only. The manager started to become very frustrated and rude. Disgusted with the customer service so paid and left. Would not recommend this place to no one!!
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