Franco's, Shoreditch

Franco’s
67 Rivington Street
Shoreditch
EC2A 3AY (Map)
020 7739 0231

by Moose Lee

I have a moral tale to tell. It was the morning after a night of reverie and sin.

I awoke, fully-clothed, next to my girlfriend. Counterwise, my good friend Y awoke in the spare bedroom, disrobed, with the opposite of his girlfriend. By which I mean, a girl who was not his girlfriend.

Before we could even try and think what any of this meant we had to go for breakfast.

First off, we tried this smart place in Bethnal Green, the Rochelle Canteen, for a cleansing, arty breakfast. But they were closed – “preparing for an event”. We should have turned back then.

We went to The Diner on Curtain Road and stared blankly at the menus. All the options were so fun and hopeful: eggs Benedict, blueberry pancakes. But our bodies knew what our minds did not. You shall have what you deserve. And there was no fry-up on the menu.

So, with the sad acceptance of repeat offenders, we went round the corner to Franco’s and – without needing to open the menu – both ordered the ‘Special Breakfast’, £3.80.

Somehow, we were still in a chirpy mood: ironically enjoying the red tops and bantering with the waitress. “Keep your hands off her, Y,” I said. But the laughs died out as our breakfast arrived.

It was – we realised - everything he deserved.

I watched my friend grimly begin his punishment: chewing through the sausage skin that, although I didn’t mention it at the time, reminded me of a ripped condom. He poked at the yolk and watched it leak into his bean juice. He nodded at this. Then, solemnly, communion-like, he swallowed the lump of egg white that had grown cold at the edge of his plate. Washed down with bitter, too-strong, tea, I saw in my friend's face the heavy weight of regret. The burden began to prickle his skin like carbohydrate sweats.