Med Kitchen, South Kensington
Med Kitchen
23-35 Gloucester Road
South Kensington
SW7
020 7589 1383
www.medkitchen.co.uk
Molly Coddle-Degg
is
Carrie Brownsauce
in
Breks and the City
In a modern city, in a modern world, should a girl have breakfast at supper time?
This was the dilemma facing me one evening at Med Kitchen, where I’d met my fabulous friend J to eat, drink and discuss men, shoes and existentialism.
Minimalist and chic, the restaurant was quietly busy. We were seated by a poker-faced model-turned-waitress of Eastern European extraction. Outside, Sloanes ranged their way up the Gloucester Road. We immediately turned to item one on the agenda: boys.
Looking over the menu, (oh the delights of restaurant cooking! As modern women, neither J or I can actually cook), my eye was drawn to the promise of Eggs Benedict, then – more temptingly – its smoked-salmony cousin, Eggs Royale, with a naughty portion of chips. But breakfast at dinner? Is that the done thing? Admittedly this was not a dish to compliment the bottle of rosé we’d ordered, but my breakfast-loving tastebuds were putting up a strong argument. Hmmm, what does Debretts have to say, I wondered.
“A successful Eggs Royale is like the perfect outfit, each element must work well alone – the toasted muffin, a Chanel suit; the smoked salmon, a Hermes scarf; the poached eggs, Manolo Blahniks; the Hollandaise sauce, Coco Mademoiselle; the chips, Asprey diamonds - but the whole must be beyond fabulous, and more than the sum of its parts.”
Well this one, it turned out, was more akin to Marks & Spencers. Perfunctory, a little bland, but ultimately reliable - at any time of day.
23-35 Gloucester Road
South Kensington
SW7
020 7589 1383
www.medkitchen.co.uk
Molly Coddle-Degg
is
Carrie Brownsauce
in
Breks and the City
In a modern city, in a modern world, should a girl have breakfast at supper time?
This was the dilemma facing me one evening at Med Kitchen, where I’d met my fabulous friend J to eat, drink and discuss men, shoes and existentialism.
Minimalist and chic, the restaurant was quietly busy. We were seated by a poker-faced model-turned-waitress of Eastern European extraction. Outside, Sloanes ranged their way up the Gloucester Road. We immediately turned to item one on the agenda: boys.
Looking over the menu, (oh the delights of restaurant cooking! As modern women, neither J or I can actually cook), my eye was drawn to the promise of Eggs Benedict, then – more temptingly – its smoked-salmony cousin, Eggs Royale, with a naughty portion of chips. But breakfast at dinner? Is that the done thing? Admittedly this was not a dish to compliment the bottle of rosé we’d ordered, but my breakfast-loving tastebuds were putting up a strong argument. Hmmm, what does Debretts have to say, I wondered.
“A successful Eggs Royale is like the perfect outfit, each element must work well alone – the toasted muffin, a Chanel suit; the smoked salmon, a Hermes scarf; the poached eggs, Manolo Blahniks; the Hollandaise sauce, Coco Mademoiselle; the chips, Asprey diamonds - but the whole must be beyond fabulous, and more than the sum of its parts.”
Well this one, it turned out, was more akin to Marks & Spencers. Perfunctory, a little bland, but ultimately reliable - at any time of day.
posted by London Review of Breakfasts |
10:53 AM |
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