The London Review of Breakfasts

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

Friday, May 23, 2008

The Waterhouse, De Beauvoir Town

The Waterhouse
10 Orsman Road
De Beauvoir Town
N1 5QJ
020 7033 0123

by Orva Easy

The infinite variety with which humanity is blessed is a thing to treasure. In the hustle of everyday life, the constant fight to stand out against the tide of faceless others, it is hard to step back and take joy in our never-ending diversity. Sitting at a window table in the Waterhouse (feted as London's most eco-friendly restaurant, a fact which is neither noticeable nor interesting for those concerned purely with the question of breakfast - dear readers, we shall ignore it) overlooking the Regent’s canal, presents a splendid opportunity to do just that. And I will tell you, it is a curious and wonderful thing to discover that however many joggers there are panting their way along the towpath, there is an equal number of very distinct gaits. It is nothing short of astonishing. You wonder how some of these people stay upright.

While marvelling at these many miraculous methods of forward propulsion, one is treated to a delightful breakfast experience. The airy restaurant, empty but for one or two cashmere-trendy east London couples and an army of charming staff, put me in mind of a beach-side café in Sydney in which I once enjoyed a superb eggs Benedict - albeit minus the sun, sea and golden sand. Old-style blues and calypso are non-intrusive, and though they leave the teabag in, which would horrify my refined colleague Miss Tart, you are at least provided with saucers on which to deposit the offending sack of spent leaves. The eggs, my companions agreed, were superb, while the sausages were tiny but plentiful, with a hint of thyme. With two choices on the menu (three items for £5.50 and five at a whopping £9) I would have been righteously outraged if I had opted for black pudding as one of three, so meagre was the portion, but after some debate it was decided that the single meaty field mushroom was preferable to the usual sloppy mess of limp, overcooked slices. All of this came seasoned lightly with a pinch of smugness and a dash of relief that it was not us heaving our breakfast filled bulks down the towpath.


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