The London Review of Breakfasts

"Hope is a good breakfast, but it is a bad supper." (Francis Bacon)

Friday, May 01, 2009

Breakfasts and Beds: Escape, Llandudno

Escape Boutique B&B
48 Church Walks
LL30 2HL
01492 877 776

by Cher E. Jamm

I don't know about you, but when I go away to a bed & breakfast, I'm usually disproportionately excited about the prospect of breakfast the next morning. I don't care for soft furnishings, and I certainly don't give two hoots about where we dine on the day of arrival, but I'll drool and fantasise and lose sleep over the morning to come. And I'm usually disappointed and left fuming and tearful at the piddly excuse of what lay before my eyes.

At the Escape Boutique B&B, from the moment we swanned into the ornate dining room, with its parquet floors, high ceilings and fancy table settings, I got the feeling that past experiences could potentially wash away. Linen napkins and neat little menus greeted us, as did the extraordinarily gorgeous, smiling waitress who would not look out of place in a Californian beauty contest. I had to ask Mr Jamm to retrieve his jaw from the floor.

And with that, a flurry of ordering took place. Freshly squeezed grapefruit juice and a cafetiere of Columbia's finest arrived with a flourish. Deliciously fresh fruit salad with natural yoghurt served in classy tumblers were gobbled up within seconds. A glance at the Sunday papers and then it was then time for the Grand Poobah, the real test of metal. The Escape was about to show its true colours.

And what colours they were. Two neat, finely fried eggs lay in the middle of this handsome plate, surrounded by the holy hexagon of all that makes a Full English. Two sausages of rare and fine pedigree (and still sizzling!); crisp bacon that is a reminder to all of why we should only eat animals that have led happy lives; a grilled field mushroom that could have doubled as a parasol; a grilled tomato that was actually cooked (I can't recall the last time that happened); a few spoonfuls of beans that didn't swamp the plate and finally, the piece de resistance: black pudding as I never knew or liked before. It was about the shape and size of a cocktail sausage and perfectly cooked on the outside, and full of bloody, oatey goodness on the inside.

I implore you all to go. Go to Llandudno, that rusty and charming old seaside resort. Go stay at the Escape B&B with it's fine soft furnishings and lovely staff. Go and find salvation in a breakfast fit for gods. And then go tell all your friends to do the same.


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