Special Dispatch: Norman Carr Cottage, Monkey Bay, Malawi
Norman Carr Cottage
Monkey Bay
Malawi
00 265 1 587 316
www.normancarrcottage.com
by Blake Pudding on location
I was slowly awoken from a beautiful dream by what sounded like a monkey running across the roof. A little face peered at me through the mosquito net. It was a monkey! What the fuck was going on? I looked to my left and saw a girl, her hair spread over the pillow. Was I still asleep? No, I was on holiday with the fabulous Alice Wingate. My heart skipped with joy and my stomach rumbled loudly. We may have been in a romantic paradise but it was breakfast time and I was bloody starving. We walked outside into the balmy heat. Lake Malawi stretched out to the horizon before us. After a moment sitting admiring the view, our hostess Jenny appeared and inquired whether we would like bacon and eggs for breakfast. “Hell yes,” we replied in unison.
The bacon was of the streaky variety and cooked crisply. Proust himself could not have cooked more evocative bacon. It took me straight back to family holidays and my father cooking the only meal he knew how. It came with perfect fried eggs and rich, gooey grilled tomatoes. You may think it wilfully perverse to have such an English meal in a location such as this, but at the Norman Carr cottage it all seemed to make sense. Perhaps it was the company, perhaps it was the location, or perhaps the food really was that good - but I don't think I will ever eat a finer breakfast.
Monkey Bay
Malawi
00 265 1 587 316
www.normancarrcottage.com
by Blake Pudding on location
I was slowly awoken from a beautiful dream by what sounded like a monkey running across the roof. A little face peered at me through the mosquito net. It was a monkey! What the fuck was going on? I looked to my left and saw a girl, her hair spread over the pillow. Was I still asleep? No, I was on holiday with the fabulous Alice Wingate. My heart skipped with joy and my stomach rumbled loudly. We may have been in a romantic paradise but it was breakfast time and I was bloody starving. We walked outside into the balmy heat. Lake Malawi stretched out to the horizon before us. After a moment sitting admiring the view, our hostess Jenny appeared and inquired whether we would like bacon and eggs for breakfast. “Hell yes,” we replied in unison.
The bacon was of the streaky variety and cooked crisply. Proust himself could not have cooked more evocative bacon. It took me straight back to family holidays and my father cooking the only meal he knew how. It came with perfect fried eggs and rich, gooey grilled tomatoes. You may think it wilfully perverse to have such an English meal in a location such as this, but at the Norman Carr cottage it all seemed to make sense. Perhaps it was the company, perhaps it was the location, or perhaps the food really was that good - but I don't think I will ever eat a finer breakfast.
posted by London Review of Breakfasts |
12:41 PM |
2 Comments:
Hear! Hear! Taken all in all, it would be difficult to find a finer breakfast than at the Norman Carr Cottages.
And thank you for this blog. If it hadn't been for you, I never would have found this place and my life would be indescribably poorer.
And so true, that about Proust.
Ha! Fancy that, econoclast. It's a damn long way to go from Los Angeles, but this review inspired me, as well, to go clear to Monkey Bay in search of Proustian bacon. And I found it, mes amis, indeed I did. Merci beaucoup, Blake Pudding on location. And thank you to Taffy and Jenny and all their wonderful staff, for preparing such a breakfast.
I believe that Norman Carr Cottage must be the most wonderful hotel in all the wide world.
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