The perfect English Breakfast
Disclaimer - The restaurant in question and this review are entirely a work of fiction. They are excerpts from my novel called The Curse of Gluttony , an inter-generational battle between the old and new world of restaurant critics.
The Ten things that make a perfect hotel breakfast. By Raymond Rodgers.
1. In number one place is a dedicated egg station. It makes me ill to think of eggs under the lights of a hot plate, dying a slow and painful death. I want an enthusiastic egg purveyor, a master of their craft to dazzle me with their egg making excellence, in front of my very own eyes. Obviously, I would prefer not to have to queue, that would be a tad sad.
2. My orange juice must be freshly squeezed from the fruit. Bursting with Vit C. If I oversaw the country I would abolish those abominable cartons of despair, full of sweet and sickly juice, made impure with spurious ingredients added through the process, in a far-off industrial plant.
3. A chilled bottle of Cava on ice, never Prosecco. Occasionally when one has breakfast one needs to celebrate life with an early morning livener. Just the one mind you.
4. Proper toast. Of course, I make my own toast when at home. I just don’t want to have to do it when staying in a hotel. That evil little toaster contraption, taking an eternity to roll round and spit out warm bread. At least three trips round before it develops a tan. No, I want a selection of toasts served on a little silver rack.
5. Proper bacon. Good traditional smoked back bacon. None of those white milky emissions you get from water being added to cheap cuts. Certainly not that scrawny stuff that our cousins from across the pond seem to cherish. Crackling is for a Sunday Roast y’all, not a decent breakfast.
6. Honey and Marmalade. I want my honey to be straight from the honeycomb. Perhaps one of these little oriental wooden dippers to collect it from. My marmalade must be golden shred, thick cut naturally. Robertson’s, I think, although that might lead to the woke brigade filing a grievance against me. They didn’t like that wee fella on the jar.
7. Coffee. Now like most English gentlemen I have been brought up to drink tea most of the time, but I like to kick start my day with good coffee. I refuse to call it an americano, but I wish strong black coffee, served in a silver pot, so that I can replenish myself when necessary. Cold milk on the side. Cubes of white sugar, with those little silver tongs.
8. No Greens/No Beans/No Potatoes. I am prepared to accept a tomato lightly grilled, but please do not add any green stuff for aesthetic effect. It has no place on the breakfast table. That includes the dreaded avocado, much loved by the young ones. As for beans they should be banished until the nation are educated to know that they are haricot beans. Anyway, they bleed in to the eggs, so keep them away. And as for hash browns, they are the devil incarnate.
9. Butter. I want my butter to be lightly salted and served at room temperature in a little cloche. I certainly don’t want to have to unlock it from the prison of a foil wrapper.
10. A selection of newspapers. A gentleman likes to catch up with the morning news. A copy of the Telegraph, and the London Herald of course.