My Quest for Greasy Salvation

March 2, 2008 § 4 Comments

Last night my flat threw a party.  It started at around 9:30 pm, and ended when the last guest, a socially unfortunate fellow, was politely asked to leave at 3:30 am.  Casualties included one broken glass and one cut finger.  I drunk dialed the boyfriend* and managed to turn drunken thoughts like, “you’re cute,” and “the floor looks far away,” into a lengthy conversation, finally getting to sleep at 4:30 am.

*Isn’t it lovely when the time difference actually works in your favor?

The plan this morning was to mollify the hangover sickness with big English breakfasts.

We were going to go a cute little cafe called The Coffee Cup, but it was closed.  I guess it was very “North American” of me to assume that a breakfast place would be open on a Sunday morning.  (Okay fine, it was 1 pm.)

Our next attempt was a pub breakfast down the road a bit at a nice pub called The Malt Cross.  We went in, found a nice table, took off our jackets, and then learned that the only Sunday brunch options were steak, chicken, or pork roast.  First of all we had a vegetarian in our midst, and second of all, pork roast was not exactly what I had in mind to cure the threatening churning feeling in my stomach.

On to the next option, a £0.66 pasty from Gregg’s, a chain of cheap-ass bakeries.  What it lacks in class, it makes up for in extra grease.  But alas, Greggs’ was closed as well.

Defeated, we felt we had no other option but to go to our old standby, The Last Post.  (A very apt name since we always end up there when our other plans fall through.)  The Last Post is actually a Wetherspoon’s chain, which means it’s very cheap, but about the same quality as Denny’s.  We found a table, took off our coats, decided what we wanted… and learned that due to understaffing, we would have to wait 45 minutes to place our order.  So, we dragged our completely hungover asses back out into the street.

I wanted to go to Greenlees.   It’s a breakfast place with those tables where the chairs are attached, kindof like McDonalds.  Classy.  But whatever, it has traditional English breakfasts, and I needed to line my stomach with grease pronto!   But the vegetarian objected.  Not enough options for her there.

Resigned to the idea of a panini rather than my grease-fest, we tried a cafe.  There was no seating.   Greenlees won out in the end.

Greenlees had many variations on the “traditional English breakfast.”  True to form, I ordered the American.  Why?  Because it was the only one without BEANS.  I’m sorry, but I just can’t stomach the idea of beans for breakfast.

A traditional American breakfast, in my opinion, includes:

  • eggs (2) usually scrambled or fried (sunny side down)
  • crispy bacon or sausage
  • homefries
  • toast, pre-buttered

My “American” breakfast consisted of:

  •  1 fried egg, sunny side up
  • bacon – not crispy, more like a thin, salty, bacon-steak
  • triangular hash browns
  • a sausage
  • a giant stewed tomato

Despite obvious errors in American-ness, it did the trick.  I feel like a human again.


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§ 4 Responses to My Quest for Greasy Salvation

  • podunkette says:

    aww Leah, you may think beans for breakfast sounds un-American, but it’s pretty damn redneck. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had beans with huge chunks of saltpork with scrambled eggs and homefries. but I’m sure English beans aren’t as good as homemade baked beans.

  • Rory says:

    Oooh, beans for breakfast. I hope there was ketchup involved. I’m still caught on the stewed tomato. I ate a third a pound of cheese tonight and now I’m sitting on the couch trying to ignore my housemates having loud, computer centered sex upstairs. shudder…

  • Leah says:

    Podunkette – Wow, you are blowing my mind with that information right now. I’d like to try your homemade baked beans. I’ve only tasted the canned variety.

    Rory – Computer centered sex? With each other? I think we need more details.

  • Rory says:

    I swear, playing World of Warcraft and banging like scraggly sheep.

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