Perfect Blend
12 Streatham High Road
Streatham
SW16
020 8769 4646
by Rhys Chris Peese
Don’t get me wrong. I’m all in favour of bringing café society to London. However, there should be a limit to the project, and that limit is somewhere just short of the A23. Nonetheless, dotted along the busy dual carriageway of Streatham High Road, each bar and coffee shop bravely puts out its tables, ready for breakfasters to enjoy the heady exhaust fumes with their bacon.
Perfect Blend is such a venue, although my flatmate and I decided to savour the monoxide from a comfy sofa by the open window, thus affording us the chance to enjoy the tangy aroma of disinfectant as we tucked into our breakfasts: by night this is a popular bar.
I chose the full English, she the pancakes with maple syrup. Mine was cooked to near perfection: succulent bacon, a single herby sausage, mushrooms, grilled tomato, crispy wholemeal toast and, unfortunately, some tepid baked beans. The pancakes meanwhile were weighty enough to sustain one on some lengthy hike – perhaps to zone one – although I saw this as more of an advantage than my companion did. The menu seemed to be missing a trick, too, not to offer them with some more of that delicious bacon.
Perfect Blend have almost everything right. The coffee is freshly brewed; the orange juice could only be fresher if one of the waitresses squeezed it directly into your mouth at the table. The helpings are ample yet reasonably priced, the food consists of good ingredients cooked well and without fussy embellishment. Now all they need to do is petition for the pedestrianisation of Streatham High Road.
Monday, May 21, 2007
Friday, May 18, 2007
One Railways, London to Norwich
10.00 Service
One Railways
London Liverpool Street to Norwich
www.onerailway.com
by Moose Lee
In Britain, many of our most honest human interactions occur shortly after the reassuring jolt of a train halting at a points malfunction. We love the camaraderie of a hellish journey. So I feel somehow unpatriotic to bring you news of my glorious, gluttonous breakfast on a cheap, punctual train.
“The Great British” – pinnacle of One’s breakfast menu – starts with cereal. Quelle surprise, I went for muesli. It was a small portion, overly sweet and suffering a raisin drought. However, a double-bagged tea pot and proper cold OJ soon raised my spirits. After the aperitif, my bowl was cleared by a traditionally grumpy railway matron. She then brought out a basket of toast and croissants. The toast was ridiculously perfect. The croissants were a bit supermarket-y but still good. If we’re being brand conscious, this leg of the breakfast performed well: Twinings tea, President butter and Bonne Maman conserve in mini-jars, two of which I took home as souvenirs. There are few sounds more satisfying than the pop of a teeny tiny pot of stolen jam.
The matron’s grumpiness was, I propose, geographically dependent; the closer we got to Norfolk – her motherland – the more her mood lightened. By the time we hit Diss she was positively beaming.
After a short respite, the enormous Full English arrived, looking and smelling fabulous. The black pudding was a highlight: crumbly and soft. The only letdown was the clump of tasteless, over-cooked scrambled eggs sneakily concealing that most feared breakfast item: fried bread. Luckily, the restaurant was in first class, which is where I stayed for the ensuing carbohydrate paralysis.
Dedicated railway haters need not worry: there is bad news. The breakfast was on a half-price deal and would normally cost sixteen quid – more than my return train ticket - and it would take more than two stolen jam jars to make that a bargain.
One Railways
London Liverpool Street to Norwich
www.onerailway.com
by Moose Lee
In Britain, many of our most honest human interactions occur shortly after the reassuring jolt of a train halting at a points malfunction. We love the camaraderie of a hellish journey. So I feel somehow unpatriotic to bring you news of my glorious, gluttonous breakfast on a cheap, punctual train.
“The Great British” – pinnacle of One’s breakfast menu – starts with cereal. Quelle surprise, I went for muesli. It was a small portion, overly sweet and suffering a raisin drought. However, a double-bagged tea pot and proper cold OJ soon raised my spirits. After the aperitif, my bowl was cleared by a traditionally grumpy railway matron. She then brought out a basket of toast and croissants. The toast was ridiculously perfect. The croissants were a bit supermarket-y but still good. If we’re being brand conscious, this leg of the breakfast performed well: Twinings tea, President butter and Bonne Maman conserve in mini-jars, two of which I took home as souvenirs. There are few sounds more satisfying than the pop of a teeny tiny pot of stolen jam.
The matron’s grumpiness was, I propose, geographically dependent; the closer we got to Norfolk – her motherland – the more her mood lightened. By the time we hit Diss she was positively beaming.
After a short respite, the enormous Full English arrived, looking and smelling fabulous. The black pudding was a highlight: crumbly and soft. The only letdown was the clump of tasteless, over-cooked scrambled eggs sneakily concealing that most feared breakfast item: fried bread. Luckily, the restaurant was in first class, which is where I stayed for the ensuing carbohydrate paralysis.
Dedicated railway haters need not worry: there is bad news. The breakfast was on a half-price deal and would normally cost sixteen quid – more than my return train ticket - and it would take more than two stolen jam jars to make that a bargain.
Wednesday, May 09, 2007
Eurostar, Gare du Nord to London Waterloo
Eurostar
Gare du Nord to London Waterloo
www.eurostar.com
By Reggie Brek
Eurostar - what does it bring to mind? To this man, it conjures up a French service whose sleek little engines make quick pick-ups in London before racing back to the elegant sanctuary of the Gare du Nord. There's nothing English about it - that's why it's not called 'Anglostar'.
This being the case, I expect French standards of cooking to prevail. When I board the 8:07am from Paris to Londres, I want a Gallic wake-up call. I want flaky croissants. I want pain au chocolat so lavishly enbuttered that passing cardiologists would faint. I want a silken café crème to rinse it down my gullet. This, dammit, is the petit dejeuner I've paid £59 return for.
On being handed the menu by Mam'selle, however, the options appear to be thus: there's a continental breakfast consisting of yoghurt, ham and "soft figs" and there's something billed as Hot Cooked English Breakfast. Obviously, with figs the alternative, the only choice was the Hot Cooked.
My anguish knew no bounds when, instead of the fry-up I was expecting, I was handed a plate of omelette, tiny cubed potatoes and salmon flakes. There were approximately two tablespoons of each. There was a hard roll on a side plate, and a yoghurt, which I forced on my seatmate. The filter cafe tasted as if it had sulked in its coffeepot overnight.
Sacre bloody bleu! Up yours, Delors! Do they honestly think that Brits eat salmon at eight in the morning (otherwise known as seven, Proper English Time)? Or dry, miserly diced potato? Or a tooth-breaking rolls you could play boules with? Je suis desole. They'll be hearing from my soliciteur.
Gare du Nord to London Waterloo
www.eurostar.com
By Reggie Brek
Eurostar - what does it bring to mind? To this man, it conjures up a French service whose sleek little engines make quick pick-ups in London before racing back to the elegant sanctuary of the Gare du Nord. There's nothing English about it - that's why it's not called 'Anglostar'.
This being the case, I expect French standards of cooking to prevail. When I board the 8:07am from Paris to Londres, I want a Gallic wake-up call. I want flaky croissants. I want pain au chocolat so lavishly enbuttered that passing cardiologists would faint. I want a silken café crème to rinse it down my gullet. This, dammit, is the petit dejeuner I've paid £59 return for.
On being handed the menu by Mam'selle, however, the options appear to be thus: there's a continental breakfast consisting of yoghurt, ham and "soft figs" and there's something billed as Hot Cooked English Breakfast. Obviously, with figs the alternative, the only choice was the Hot Cooked.
My anguish knew no bounds when, instead of the fry-up I was expecting, I was handed a plate of omelette, tiny cubed potatoes and salmon flakes. There were approximately two tablespoons of each. There was a hard roll on a side plate, and a yoghurt, which I forced on my seatmate. The filter cafe tasted as if it had sulked in its coffeepot overnight.
Sacre bloody bleu! Up yours, Delors! Do they honestly think that Brits eat salmon at eight in the morning (otherwise known as seven, Proper English Time)? Or dry, miserly diced potato? Or a tooth-breaking rolls you could play boules with? Je suis desole. They'll be hearing from my soliciteur.
Thursday, May 03, 2007
Special Dispatch: Cheers Bar, Protaras
Cheers Bar
Protaras
Nr Ayia Napa
Cyprus
Cyprus holiday paraphernalia
by Tina Beans
Ahhhhh the promise of a holiday. To escape it all, explore new lands, new cultures. Well, unless you go to Protaras of course. Like a mini Vegas with English people, Protaras has everything to offer the Brit abroad. You can eat a full roast dinner to the comforting sounds of 5 different versions of Angels by wannabe Robbies in any number of themed bars. Never been to Stonehenge? Now’s your chance! Always wanted to wonder through ‘Robin Hood Forest’? Well now you can! Don’t waste your time with real historical attractions such as Aphrodite’s Rock. As our lovely holiday rep told us ‘between you and me it’s just a rock int’ sand’.
After a night out on the cocktails and Karaoke we were in dire need of a true home comfort: a good full English. We strolled past the singing Elvis and the Sphinx and came to the Cheers Pub. For 3 Cypriot Pounds, you get all the essential ingredients, starting with a round of toast and jam as a kind of ‘starter’. The eggs were nicely done and came sitting on yet more toast, next to a helping of beans and an interesting take on grilled tomato – in slices, lightly griddled like a salad garnish. Our friendly but stressed waiter forgot the sausages which arrived a few minutes later in their own dish. Overall, it wasn’t bad with sausage and bacon of reasonably good quality, both well cooked although a little luke warm. Not the greatest breakfast, but maybe that’s what you get if you ask for a full English, in a faux American themed pub, in Cyprus.
Protaras
Nr Ayia Napa
Cyprus
Cyprus holiday paraphernalia
by Tina Beans
Ahhhhh the promise of a holiday. To escape it all, explore new lands, new cultures. Well, unless you go to Protaras of course. Like a mini Vegas with English people, Protaras has everything to offer the Brit abroad. You can eat a full roast dinner to the comforting sounds of 5 different versions of Angels by wannabe Robbies in any number of themed bars. Never been to Stonehenge? Now’s your chance! Always wanted to wonder through ‘Robin Hood Forest’? Well now you can! Don’t waste your time with real historical attractions such as Aphrodite’s Rock. As our lovely holiday rep told us ‘between you and me it’s just a rock int’ sand’.
After a night out on the cocktails and Karaoke we were in dire need of a true home comfort: a good full English. We strolled past the singing Elvis and the Sphinx and came to the Cheers Pub. For 3 Cypriot Pounds, you get all the essential ingredients, starting with a round of toast and jam as a kind of ‘starter’. The eggs were nicely done and came sitting on yet more toast, next to a helping of beans and an interesting take on grilled tomato – in slices, lightly griddled like a salad garnish. Our friendly but stressed waiter forgot the sausages which arrived a few minutes later in their own dish. Overall, it wasn’t bad with sausage and bacon of reasonably good quality, both well cooked although a little luke warm. Not the greatest breakfast, but maybe that’s what you get if you ask for a full English, in a faux American themed pub, in Cyprus.
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