So, what's in a name? Not much, it seems, if you haven't got one. Went for breakfast the other day at the mysteriously unnamed Riverside Cafe (or should it just be 1 Queen Street?).
Whatever it's called, you'll get a canny breakfast there, that's for sure. Modestly, they claim it as the best breakfast in the world (and they could be right).
I asked for the veggie version and the woman behind the counter said "We'll do you anything you like, pet" so this is what I had:
It's one of those breakfasts that's so good you don't want to finish it. The flavours are full of, well, flavour and it tastes just like breakfast should taste and you get toast with it. The eggs are a delicate counterpoint to the boldness of the hash browns, who look as though they want to own the plate. Beans, mushrooms and tomatoes watch quietly and supportively from the sidelines.
If you like to linger over your breakfast, reading the paper or possibly musing over life's many mysteries and how the Toon will get on next season then this is not the place to do so. They do takeaways as well as cafe food, so there's a constant stream of people and a general hubbub: babies (with parents), corporate suits, builders and students (there was one lad in the corner working on his Chemistry thesis. I might have given him a hand if I'd had a bit more time, although it looked like he might have got beyond labelling the bunsen burner, which is my speciality).
Outside at this time of year, kittiwakes are building nests everywhere so if you happen to be wearing a hat with a brim (perhaps a homburg?) then don't stand still for too long or you'll find yourself housing a noisy and smelly family of six:
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