Beyond bacon

Bistrotheque 

23-27 Wadeson Street, E2 9DR

Hawksmoor

157 Commercial Street, E1 6BJ

The English excel at breakfast. Granted, a freshly-baked croissant is a fine thing and huevos rancheros can be phenomenal, but a full English on a cold morning is heaven. Despite our (now largely defunct) reputation for poor cooking, our breakfasts are generally lauded for their commitment to heart-stopping awesomeness. 

Shifted closer to the middle of the day and combined with a judicious slug of alcohol and it becomes one of the greatest contributions we ever made to gastronomy: brunch. I am certain the finer points of the great who-invented-brunch question could be debated endlessly but I have checked that infallible source of all online knowledge and can confirm that we definitely invented it. It is a shame, therefore, that we are not always the best at it. Those pesky New Yorkers will all their better-bagel-smugness have got some of the best brunches as well. Places like Egg and Bubby's taunt us from across the Atlantic with their light, fluffy pancakes and crispy crispy bacon. Still, we have some fine establishments to pit against them. Inspired but not fully satisfied by my ongoing search for breakfast perfection, I decided to up the stakes and go looking, instead, for brunch.

You would be forgiven for never making it to Bistrotheque; it is so well-hidden that it took us a couple of trips up and down Wadeson Street before we finally stumbled into it. Even then, we must have tried every door before we found the stairs up to the restaurant. By the time we sat down, in addition to seeing the bar and kitchen (which everyone walks through on their way to dining area), we had been in the toilets, the broom cupboard and several adjacent houses. All this trendy obscurity probably makes some people feel cool. Unfortunately, it makes Mr Fork angry. This was unfortunate because the room, the food and the service were all excellent. 

The elusive restaurant is in a converted warehouse (what isn't these days?) and the interior is a pleasant combination of white tiled walls with lots of natural light. Even this didn't shake Mr Fork's resolve; he grumbled all the way through a great Bloody Mary and looked set to continue throughout the meal... until his burger arrived. Coarsely-textured rare beef, a proper bun and a burger sauce made of French's mustard and ketchup had an amazingly uplifting effect on his mood. He stopped muttering words like "pretentious" and managed to munch out "best burger ever" before returning to attack it once more. He even succeeded in maintaining his composure when a pink-haired musician started bashing out instrumental versions of 80s classics on the grand piano. My cooked breakfast was good too.

The breakfast at Hawksmoor is legendary. A monstrous offering involving more meat than I would ever have thought possible: the bubble contains meat, the baked beans are made with meat, even the toast is made with animal fat. However, this is not some comedy oversized breakfast involving a health disclaimer, although it will leave you in serious need of an afternoon nap. Rather, it is a decadently  carnivorous but delicious way to spend a Sunday morning. We started with a pair of Hawksmoor's super fresh Bloody Marys. An interesting interpretation of the classic, they have a lighter, almost greener taste due to the addition of cucumber alongside freshly juiced tomatoes. A great drink but not quite as satisfying as the pungent and piquant original. 

Unsurprisingly given the focus of the restaurant and indeed the breakfast itself, the meaty offerings were the highlights. Wonderful fat sausages, a delightfully smoky bacon chop, beef bubble and trotter beans were life-changing. Normal bacon will never have the same appeal as once it had. Black pudding was nice but unexceptional, as were tomatoes and mushrooms. The only low point in this gluttonous joy were the eggs, which were hard. Had I not been so full of bacon, I might have sent them back because it was almost criminal to serve all that lovely dripping toast without a soft egg to smear on it. Fortunately for everyone except my gut, I had long lost the power of speech and could only point feebly at the bacon and nod my appreciation.

Two excellent brunches which would stand up to any of their transatlantic relatives. Good brunch in London comes at a cost though. Both times we paid around £50 for brunch for two with cocktails. Not bad value in either case but more expensive than we could pay for more than an occasional treat. But who could fail to forgive indulgence, when it is so clearly in the national interest?

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