Harpers, Borough
Harpers
3 Southwark Street
Borough
SE1 1RQ
020 7407 9666
by Bree Oche
Another Saturday morning, another thumping red wine and vodka based hangover. With an empty fridge and stomach to boot, this grey morn is surely the perfect time for a trip to the friendly greasy spoon-cum-Italian Bistro known as Harpers.
Eloquently decked out in a verdant green, Harpers' bizarre selection of wooden shelving presents everything from pot plants to bottles of olive oil to tin watering cans with museum-like posterity. The ever reliable Jones and I gallop up to the counter with childlike enthusiasm, the scent of bacon crisping and bread toasting teasing our nostrils into a state of pure, unadulterated desire.
Our tiny wooden table is decked out with 50s chrome peppershakers and finger snatching napkin dispensers and the full English, which arrives less than ten minutes after ordering, is utterly delightful. A basket of hot buttered toast sits in the void between our laden plates, upon which shimmering fried eggs battle for supremacy with an ocean of beans, thick rashers of bacon, hulks of fried tomato and the questionably meaty delights of a low quality sausage.
Greasy in the right places yet crispy where it matters, at £3.70 Harpers have definitively produced one of the best hangover breakfasts this reviewer has ever encountered. As Jones and I sweep the yolky remains from our plates with the last of the delectably cheap white toast, we stare out of the huge windows at the harried bustle of Borough Market, its rain swept tourists laden with organic produce and overpriced smoothies, smug in the knowledge that this wet March morning, we wouldn’t wish to be anywhere else.
3 Southwark Street
Borough
SE1 1RQ
020 7407 9666
by Bree Oche
Another Saturday morning, another thumping red wine and vodka based hangover. With an empty fridge and stomach to boot, this grey morn is surely the perfect time for a trip to the friendly greasy spoon-cum-Italian Bistro known as Harpers.
Eloquently decked out in a verdant green, Harpers' bizarre selection of wooden shelving presents everything from pot plants to bottles of olive oil to tin watering cans with museum-like posterity. The ever reliable Jones and I gallop up to the counter with childlike enthusiasm, the scent of bacon crisping and bread toasting teasing our nostrils into a state of pure, unadulterated desire.
Our tiny wooden table is decked out with 50s chrome peppershakers and finger snatching napkin dispensers and the full English, which arrives less than ten minutes after ordering, is utterly delightful. A basket of hot buttered toast sits in the void between our laden plates, upon which shimmering fried eggs battle for supremacy with an ocean of beans, thick rashers of bacon, hulks of fried tomato and the questionably meaty delights of a low quality sausage.
Greasy in the right places yet crispy where it matters, at £3.70 Harpers have definitively produced one of the best hangover breakfasts this reviewer has ever encountered. As Jones and I sweep the yolky remains from our plates with the last of the delectably cheap white toast, we stare out of the huge windows at the harried bustle of Borough Market, its rain swept tourists laden with organic produce and overpriced smoothies, smug in the knowledge that this wet March morning, we wouldn’t wish to be anywhere else.
posted by London Review of Breakfasts |
1:30 PM |
2 Comments:
Love the blog. And the breakfasts.
Must have changed hands, because it's terrible now!
Post a Comment
<< Home