let’s do brunch, dahling, at 202 café

It’s been a while since I’ve touched this blog, but I figured I needed to write something to get the ball rolling again. And what better to begin than at the beginning? And when I mean beginnings, I mean that all-important first meal of the day – breakfast. Or for those more inclined to stay in bed until at least half 10, brunch. And, does anyone else dream about what they’re going to eat when they wake up, just before they go to sleep? I’d made a pledge to go to breakfast/brunch on Sunday morning, and with 202 Café’s menu drifting around in my mind like counting sheep, I couldn’t wait to hop on that train (and tube, and more tube, and walking…) to get there and stuff my face with lots of carbs and wash it all down with copious amounts of maple syrup and tea.

So we merrily put on our best rags (from the east end to the west end, ooh la la!) and braved the gloom and doom and rain. We arrived there just after 11, which was fortunate as we were seated after a few minutes by very chirpy staff. We sat down on pretty little rustic wooden tables, flanked by those with perfect hairdos, v-necked sweaters, wire-rimmed glasses and the sort (and of course the obligatory pram) and ordered drinks – pretty standard cappuccino and earl grey for my companions, and a ‘caribe’ herbal tea pour moi – a black tea infused with guava and strawberry. Was very tempted by the pomegranate oolong but had snootily thought to myself that if I wanted pomegranate oolong, I probably could have bashed open a pom and threw its seeds into my cuppa. So I went for the caribe. Obviously.

No less than 30 seconds from ordering, another waiter came by and chirped happily at us, asking if we’d like to order any drinks. And again (another waitress). Then again (someone else entirely). Which was all very nice, but when we actually wanted to order we couldn’t find a single crisp-shirted, Hollywood-white clad waiter/waitress willing to bestow us with their presence again. Ah well, all was sorted and then we (mentally) clasped our hands together like Mr Burns and eagerly awaited our grub. Had a peer around the room to assess the crowd, and met eyes with George Alagiah. Swanky.

It was a bit difficult choosing between all the delicious sounding breakfast items on the menu: prosciutto and manchego omelette; warm chorizo, roast potato, spinach and egg salad; ricotta and spinach omelette; porridge with cream, sultanas and honey. But in the end we went with the buttermilk pancakes with fruit compote and creme fraiche; the 202 bagel with smoked salmon, cream cheese, capers and onion; and for myself, the french toast with bacon and maple syrup. I’d heard many good things about the french toast, and how can one go wrong with eggy bread, bacon and maple syrup? At this point you’d probably expect the blog to take a turn for the worse, with me shrieking in despair about how 202 had ruined bacon and maple syrup for me forever, but fear not my dear readers. ‘Twas not the case. At all.

It’s definitely no looker, though.

But the bacon was superb and had a very nice chargrilled, smokey flavour. The french toast was a bit difficult to cut into because of the crust, but inside was pillowy soft and yielded even more to my eager incisors when drenched with sweet, sweet maple syrup. Real maple syrup. I am Canadian and I know good maple syrup when I guzzle it. Bacon and maple syrup go together like prosciutto and melon, I swear (and apparently, lemon juice and prosciutto, a flavour combination let onto me by a French woman at a café the other day – so enlightening!).

The pancakes were good but not as good as when I make them, har har! I just thought they weren’t as fluffy as they should be. But my real caveat was with how little pancakes they served for £6.95 – two measley discs! I also felt they were a bits stingy with the amount of creme fraiche and blueberry compote. I felt positively horrible as I chowed down with my big fat thick chunks of eggy french toast, dripping with maple syrup and sandwiched with three large slices of meaty bacon – for the same price – while my friend began to look all pale and wan again a little while after she’d finished her pancakes, like someone who hadn’t eaten at all (we are big eaters in our household).

We were all very impressed by the bagel and smoked salmon though – no skimping on the salmon or cream cheese here! However, we wished the bagel was bigger, or that there was more of it to mop up all the cream cheese with. But on the bright side, lots of fresh, peppery watercress was much appreciated.

The fried green tomatoes, however, should have stayed in Dr Suess’s kitchen (okay, I know it’s green eggs ‘n’ ham and not tomatoes, but you know what I mean!). A dry crust with the flavourless green tomatoes was not the way to go. Reading the menu after, we were surprised that the dish description included ‘chillies’ and ‘mozzarella’, which we didn’t register at all. Oh dear!

We did occasionally steal furtive glances at the tables next to us, who had piles of moist looking scrambled eggs and cute little fat chain links of grilled Italian sausages. But we were pleased. Very pleased, in fact. The service, while a bit dreamy at times, was good and the room is amazing. Did I forget to mention that the café is actually set inside a Nicole Farhi boutique? Eating delicious food surrounded by beautiful people sitting among beautiful clothes and furniture and other such frivolous things we in this humble profession wouldn’t even dream of purchasing. There was a doorman at the loo (and he held the door open for me, bless). By the time we left, the place had some rather big queues. So come early. Terry Durack said it best – “The only real problem is getting a table – unless you’re prepared to pay £4,000 for it.”

202 Café
202 Westbourne Grove
London W11 2RH
020 7727 2772

breakfast in central

When you walk through the fresh food markets of Central, the sights and sounds can be an assault on the senses – on this occasion, so much so that we’d walked right past Hoi Wun without realising it. This was soon rectified, and we made our way into this charming little cha chaan teng (HK-style ‘tea restaurant’) for a much-needed breakfast.

Established in 1972, its humble provenance is reflected in the array of nostalgic childhood toys peppered on the cafe walls. Apparently, the owner’s brother is a designer and uses the cafe as an informal ‘gallery’ of sorts, collecting and displaying relics from the 70’s and 80’s – dolls, old piggy banks, plastic telephones and such. I regret not taking detailed photos of the displays, but may do next time (with permission)… it really is a fascinating place.

As any experienced cha chaan teng goer would know, the ideal seating is always the booth – offering the diner privacy, but with the luxury of seeing everything around them. The whole experience was more about the environment, to be honest. We ordered a simple breakfast of fried eggs and sausages with bread (I know, I know… why?), mainly because we didn’t have the power to stomach their famous satay noodles that early in the morning (and on second thought, I don’t think they serve it until lunch time!). And looking back, I wish I’d ordered a classic hot HK-style milk tea instead of the cold version (the hot drink comes in a quaint, thick rimmed cup so reminiscent of the type used in classic HK tea restaurants like these) – but after walking up and down the street in a wool coat (I underestimate how hot it can get in HK even in the dead of winter), I wanted nothing but ice. With that said, the iced milk tea still slid down like silk – smooth and velvety HK-style milk tea beats any other brew, hands-down.

Next time, I’ll be trying their recommended french toast, or the fresh-from-the-oven ‘pineapple buns’ (if you didn’t know already, the name refers to the somewhat crosshatched pattern on the bun from a crusty sugary layer, and not to its flavour) from their bakery trolley. I think that’s possibly the best way to enjoy Hoi Wun – in the lull of the afternoon, with a hearty cup of hot tea or coffee in one hand, and a bun in the other.

海運冰廳 (Hoi Wun Cafe)
28 Gage St, Central
open daily 7am-5pm
cash only
tel: 2545 4334

the breakfast, lunch & dinner post

Breakfast, or “An ode to the egg”

I am never one to skip breakfast- I can’t really remember there being a time in my life where I didn’t have that all-important first meal of the day. Most days I go to bed dreaming or pondering over what I’d have to eat at 8am the next morning. I have to say breakfasts here are quite different to breakfasts in Hong Kong. Whereas back home, that first nourishing meal would range from steamed sticky rice to beef congee (a hot and savoury rice porridge) with “oil fried ghosts” (fried sticks of batter you’d dip into your congee), or a bowl of hot broth with dumplings and choi sum (vegetable), eating breakfast in Britain is something of a different affair.

And it is here I must extend my eternal gratitude to the humble chicken – what would we do without it? Oh, the marvellous egg, how versatile is thee, bringing me endless choices of what to cook for breakfast! A tad hyperbolic but I suppose because today I had the perfect soft-boiled egg and garlic & rosemary toasted soldiers, those eggs deserve all the praise I lavish upon them. It was the breakfast of champions! Oh, and don’t forget the bacon.

* This isn’t a picture of today’s breakfast – the foodies should know that asaparagus is out of season now, sadly – it just takes a while for me to wake up, so save for the weekend I never take photos of my breakfast!

Lunch at the Beeb
I had my first day at the BBC today and I must say, I am just slightly underwhelmed by their cafeteria. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I judge a work place by its food pantry. I suppose I was spoiled by the wonder that is IPC, with their marvellous catering and stellar raspberry jelly and chefs who like to banter (“Turkey thing? It’s an escalope, love!” berated one when my supervisor made the mistake of using non-culinary lexicon when ordering). By contrast to the floor to ceiling windows and sprawling view of the Tate Modern, St. Pauls and the Thames, the BBC seemed like its meek and messy little brother.

So, I settled for a sandwich today. A prawn sandwich that cost me £3.50! Outrageous! I could have gotten Rosemary roasted chicken slathered in a creamy mushroom sauce with a side of dauphinoise potatos for that price at IPC. It saddens me. I may have to resort to bringing in lunches myself, but I shall give the Beeb canteen a week before I boycott it completely. Though, I was not so enamoured by the rubbery looking chow mein (they even had those quaint little Chinese takeaway boxes if you so desired to have it at your desk- somehow I get offended by Chinese takeaway boxes, kind of like how I get offended by fortune cookies and tinkling “Oriental” music in TV documentaries on the “mysteriously exotic East”) but I digress.

The 15 minute dinner (more or less)
Because White City is pretty much in the opposite side of town from where I live, it was already 7 by the time I got home. Luckily I had a massive rump steak waiting for me. Simply pan fried for a few minutes (I like my steak still mooing) with some mixed peppercorns, with a side of mashed Jersey Royal potatoes and steamed pointy cabbage, I was set. Oh and don’t forget the gravy- a strange but delicious sauce that my dad can take credit for. It’s very simple: Sauteed garlic and onions (and extra of choice- I usually add sliced mushrooms but today I substituted it with quartered cherry tomatoes) Lea & Perrins Worcestershire sauce + Lee Kum Kee oyster sauce, a bit of water to thin it out and then a bit of cornstarch mixed with water to thicken it out again. I don’t know why, but the rich saltiness of the oyster sauce and the sweet and sour tanginess of the Worcestershire sauce go together so well with steak. A marvellous dinner – I’m only sorry to say that I was so hungry I didn’t stop to take a picture.