Trojka, Primrose Hill
Trojka
101 Regents Park Road
Primrose Hill
NW1
020 7483 3765
www.trojka.co.uk
by Corin Flakes
The World Cup: how it divides the planetary mood. While the atavistic fan - carrying his gut like some terrible trophy - fizzes with tribal agitation, Ed Benedict and I entered the spirit of global unity by visiting the Russian tea rooms of Trojka.
Plonked on a pavement table amongst the gilded beau monde of Primrose Hill, I ordered the 'Trojka Breakfast'. Though Russian in name it is resolutely English: its synergy is with the builder, not the oligarch. The sausages were blandly comforting, and the bacon sustained a crispy bite, curling like a well-grilled treble clef. Glumly stranded in a pallid sauce, the beans had lost whatever warmth they may once have had, but the toast and tomatoes, often clumsy addendums, were perfectly fine. It was all just... average. Ed favoured mushrooms and scrambled eggs on toast, and the substitution of dull white with crunchy rye provoked uncontained pleasure.
Trojka should be commended for service. On a roasting day with the sun at its full, penetrating apex, they brought us a cauldron of cold water; a small act that showed perceptive understanding of customer need. Finally - the coffee. It is immeasurably powerful: nuclear brewed, plutonium strength. A single cup is electrifying. Your heart beat quickens exponentially with each dense sip. But two could propel you to acts of sociopathic disregard. Beer is often blamed for manifestations of British thuggery but I suspect plenty of maniacs, brawlers and fist-swingers have in fact had a thermos flask of this stuff.
101 Regents Park Road
Primrose Hill
NW1
020 7483 3765
www.trojka.co.uk
by Corin Flakes
The World Cup: how it divides the planetary mood. While the atavistic fan - carrying his gut like some terrible trophy - fizzes with tribal agitation, Ed Benedict and I entered the spirit of global unity by visiting the Russian tea rooms of Trojka.
Plonked on a pavement table amongst the gilded beau monde of Primrose Hill, I ordered the 'Trojka Breakfast'. Though Russian in name it is resolutely English: its synergy is with the builder, not the oligarch. The sausages were blandly comforting, and the bacon sustained a crispy bite, curling like a well-grilled treble clef. Glumly stranded in a pallid sauce, the beans had lost whatever warmth they may once have had, but the toast and tomatoes, often clumsy addendums, were perfectly fine. It was all just... average. Ed favoured mushrooms and scrambled eggs on toast, and the substitution of dull white with crunchy rye provoked uncontained pleasure.
Trojka should be commended for service. On a roasting day with the sun at its full, penetrating apex, they brought us a cauldron of cold water; a small act that showed perceptive understanding of customer need. Finally - the coffee. It is immeasurably powerful: nuclear brewed, plutonium strength. A single cup is electrifying. Your heart beat quickens exponentially with each dense sip. But two could propel you to acts of sociopathic disregard. Beer is often blamed for manifestations of British thuggery but I suspect plenty of maniacs, brawlers and fist-swingers have in fact had a thermos flask of this stuff.
posted by London Review of Breakfasts |
2:17 PM |
2 Comments:
I had pierogi here. Sadly, they were soggy and not to be recommended.
Had borscht and russian salad here.
all wonderful, only the portions were kinda small, in my opinion.
maybe because russian salad is considered a a starter here.
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