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Scarcity, as economics would entail, makes something valuable. In that regard, anything related to the early hours of the morning – from sunrises to brunches – should have their value in gold when it comes to me, considering my complete inability to partake in pre-11 am life.
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Brunches are actually one of my favorite activities out there – my obsession with egg based dishes knows no limits. I also find brunches to be rather classy and have this unique ability of making me feel as if life is worth living despite tube strikes, annoying people and dermatitis.
It was about time to explore neighboring Bermondsey (to which I declare myself to belong to despite me being on the wrong side of the invisible line) so we headed off to Village East to grab a nice Sunday/birthday bite. The staff was incredibly cheerful – at times rather gay – and we ended up in the most comfy armchairs in this side of London.
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I must admit that at first I feared for my selection of the venue – the Hollandaise sauce made my eggs look like a pair of pelicans drowning in the Gulf of Mexico oil spill. I mean not that they looked like tar or black, but the oil was certainly there and the sauce didn’t look so pretty.
Presumptions, however, can be wrong. The eggs (9.5£ for the two) were a stunning success: when I broke them the yolk was runny with the right consistency, the buns were as delicious as Beto Malfacini’s buttocks and the overall ratio of ingredients blended in really well. A stunning success. It also worked very well with the roasted tomatoes.
The sandwich (7£) was interesting and the bacon was cooked well, crunchy and tasty and let’s be serious, adding chili to anything can only lead to a good result.
Overall the food was cooked quite well, showing a chef that known the important basics of not ruining an egg (everyone should know how to cook an egg at least in three different manners) and the taste was quite great. The aspect was lacking – but then we were beautiful enough to make up for it.
Grade: Sainthood
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