Half Moon Café, Hammersmith
Half Moon Café
125 Fulham Palace Road
Hammersmith
W6 8JA
by Brian Sauce
Exiting via Accident and Emergency I shuffle onto the Fulham Palace Road. Commuter vehicles clog an unpromising strip of shut pubs and kebab shops, slightly reeking in the crisp morning air. Sunlight hurts my head, I’m hungry as hell.
A hundred feet from the hospital, a sandwich board outside the Half Moon Café proffers breakfast, hot meals and 60p tea. I glance at the grey faced old men and Sun-reading builders inside before crossing to get cash and buy a paper. Nearly buying a tabloid to fit in, I decide instead on a broadsheet. Tests and X-rays take time.
Front of house at Half Moon is a dismal looking fat-faced Spurs fan who turns out to be quite nice when she flirts with the builders. Bacon, sausage, fried eggs, hash browns, beans, black pudding, toast, and coffee costs £6.
Service is as quick as thought. God, it’s nice not being at work, even if I’m exhausted and Dad is trying to kill himself. Oh look, coffee. The Guardian is boring; I wish I had a Sun now. Heavens, here comes my two-plate breakfast.
Fussily, I tuck toasts under eggs and beans before slicing perfect runny yolks. Brown sauce, ketchup and mayo on tables is good, but even better is the food. Bacon well done, baked beans briefly cooked and fantastic black puddings are particular highlights. Real butter on the toast makes me forget my troubles. Hash browns are from a packet but I secretly love them.
A brilliant meal – just think, if he really dies I can stop coming to work altogether and eat breakfasts like this every day. I linger over coffee but The Guardian really is boring.
125 Fulham Palace Road
Hammersmith
W6 8JA
by Brian Sauce
Exiting via Accident and Emergency I shuffle onto the Fulham Palace Road. Commuter vehicles clog an unpromising strip of shut pubs and kebab shops, slightly reeking in the crisp morning air. Sunlight hurts my head, I’m hungry as hell.
A hundred feet from the hospital, a sandwich board outside the Half Moon Café proffers breakfast, hot meals and 60p tea. I glance at the grey faced old men and Sun-reading builders inside before crossing to get cash and buy a paper. Nearly buying a tabloid to fit in, I decide instead on a broadsheet. Tests and X-rays take time.
Front of house at Half Moon is a dismal looking fat-faced Spurs fan who turns out to be quite nice when she flirts with the builders. Bacon, sausage, fried eggs, hash browns, beans, black pudding, toast, and coffee costs £6.
Service is as quick as thought. God, it’s nice not being at work, even if I’m exhausted and Dad is trying to kill himself. Oh look, coffee. The Guardian is boring; I wish I had a Sun now. Heavens, here comes my two-plate breakfast.
Fussily, I tuck toasts under eggs and beans before slicing perfect runny yolks. Brown sauce, ketchup and mayo on tables is good, but even better is the food. Bacon well done, baked beans briefly cooked and fantastic black puddings are particular highlights. Real butter on the toast makes me forget my troubles. Hash browns are from a packet but I secretly love them.
A brilliant meal – just think, if he really dies I can stop coming to work altogether and eat breakfasts like this every day. I linger over coffee but The Guardian really is boring.
posted by London Review of Breakfasts |
1:55 PM |
3 Comments:
Glad you got a better breakfast than Wednesday! I hate that also! To wait endlessly for a meal.
ps. I like your blog.
Pretty bleak, Brian. Pretty bleak.
Very useful, have just moved to the neighbourhood and shall try the Half Moon in the morning. Hope you're well!
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