The Pineapple, Kentish Town
The Pineapple
51 Leverton St
Kentish Town
NW5
by Hashley Brown
How often do I wake up with a throbbing head and a deep-seated unnatural need to eat? How often then does that need translate into dithering, mind-numbing indecision as to where to find fulfillment? And how often then does the Pineapple appear on my list of possible venues? Always.
It feels a bit naughty. It's a pub you see and they don't really do breakfast. They don't even do coffee, but they do serve a great ham, egg and chips, and in my book that's a meal with a pork and egg ratio of an incontrovertible breakfasty nature.
The tale of the Pineapple is one of lore, and one that I can never quite remember. It involves it being a great pub that was about to be butchered into flats and then was saved by some famous Primrose Hill types standing proud amongst the disaffected locals, and so it stayed a pub that stayed great.
They have a pretty beer garden, lots of old rickety furniture and an enormous collection of pineapple-shaped stuff. In fact the only place there wasn't a pineapple was on top of my thick moist slice of hot gammon ham. But what was there instead was a lovely fried egg surrounded by hot crispy chips. The leaf salad that came with it reminded us that as it was 2pm it was probably officially lunch (although I'd argue that breakfast is a state of mind) and the lack of a coffee machine means the tendency to accompany this ham with a bloody mary is exponentially increased. But then again, I'd argue that on a sunny Sunday that's not such a bad thing either.
51 Leverton St
Kentish Town
NW5
by Hashley Brown
How often do I wake up with a throbbing head and a deep-seated unnatural need to eat? How often then does that need translate into dithering, mind-numbing indecision as to where to find fulfillment? And how often then does the Pineapple appear on my list of possible venues? Always.
It feels a bit naughty. It's a pub you see and they don't really do breakfast. They don't even do coffee, but they do serve a great ham, egg and chips, and in my book that's a meal with a pork and egg ratio of an incontrovertible breakfasty nature.
The tale of the Pineapple is one of lore, and one that I can never quite remember. It involves it being a great pub that was about to be butchered into flats and then was saved by some famous Primrose Hill types standing proud amongst the disaffected locals, and so it stayed a pub that stayed great.
They have a pretty beer garden, lots of old rickety furniture and an enormous collection of pineapple-shaped stuff. In fact the only place there wasn't a pineapple was on top of my thick moist slice of hot gammon ham. But what was there instead was a lovely fried egg surrounded by hot crispy chips. The leaf salad that came with it reminded us that as it was 2pm it was probably officially lunch (although I'd argue that breakfast is a state of mind) and the lack of a coffee machine means the tendency to accompany this ham with a bloody mary is exponentially increased. But then again, I'd argue that on a sunny Sunday that's not such a bad thing either.
posted by London Review of Breakfasts |
10:47 AM |
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