With the combination of not
being able to get out of bed at the weekend, (I only get one day remember –
hardest job in the world), and the two of us wanting to catch Josh Kemp’s set
in the Market Square, my now regular blog about the pursuit of the perfect
breakfast nearly didn't happen. However, the concept of the ‘all day’ breakfast
is alive and well on a Saturday which is a relief because a lot of places close
at about two o’clock, which is roughly the right time for breakfast on the
weekend.
Our location this week was
Denise’s Gingham Kitchen, billed as both a cafe and a restaurant although I
must say it leans more towards the ‘cafe’ side of eating out. We didn't meet
Denise in person as far as we know, but if she should ever appear in her
establishment I would hope that she is a more cheerful soul than the women who
were left holding the fort yesterday afternoon. It isn't that they weren't polite, but they all gave the impression that they would have preferred to have
been somewhere else.
Clumber Street has been named
as one of Europe’s busiest pedestrian thoroughfares, but it would be easy to
remain unaware of this cafe Denise’s is situated on a side street coming off
Clumber Street, and thankfully you aren't made aware of the thousands of feet
pounding their way up and down only a stone throw away.
The café itself is what I
would describe as ‘faded splendour’, once upon a time I don’t doubt that Denise
attracted quite a nice class of diner through the doors of a higher end eatery,
this wasn't a greasy spoon of a place, (although the table could have done with
a wipe down) but neither was it The Ritz. If I was in charge, the music would
be an issue; they were playing what could have been Capital FM but could also
have been any of the ‘same six songs, all day long’ commercial stations. When
the waitress brought our cutlery over, she placed it on the table so I had to
replace it. One of my things, (and I’m a proper OCD person, not just a fusspot)
is that I can’t have cutlery on the table so I went and got a new set and
placed it on the serviette. I suppose I’m lucky really, as people with far
worse manifestations of OCD have to take their own cutlery.
My breakfast of choice was the
‘Breakfast Special’, not on the menu but advertised on a board. Under normal
circumstances, everybody who eats out knows the rule about the special board;
do not order from it as it will be made up of stuff they can’t get rid of, but
as they had a selection of breakfast options I figured that I would come to no
harm here. For five pounds and ninety-nine pence I probably got my best value
breakfast since I started this project; two rashers of bacon, two sausages (the
right type), two fried eggs, two hash browns, and the big decider, beans and tomatoes
- you should never be made to choose. Black pudding and mushrooms were nowhere
to be seen, but I have only just realised as I consult my notebook while
writing this blog. As a side, I had two slices of bread and butter to mop up
with, and was surprised to be given the choice of bread and butter, toast, or
fried bread. Fried bread belongs on the plate; it should not be getting
involved with the other breads.
My big gripe, if I had to
pinpoint a gripe, is that tea wasn't included as a part of the 5.99 breakfast.
As a consolation, I admire their system for making sure the right drink was
delivered to my table.
The coffee cups had 'coffee' written on
===
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