The Breakfast Club, Soho, London

33 D’Arblay Street
W1F 8EU
Website
How to Get There
Nearest Tube: Tottenham Court Road, Oxford Circus

Realising that ye old Blog was woefully neglected and having endured weeks on the recruitment merry go round (with the odd cheeky weekend in Austria thrown in), it was time to bust out and hit the breakfast circuit again.

Blue sky in London in Winter can only be a good omen and so with a pasty sun on our backs we set off for Soho. Seemed like a good direction based on a secondary requirement to good grub - interesting photographic subjects. Melissa, one of my co-pilots, is now the proud owner of a fandabulous camera and needed to test drive it.

So to Soho we went in search of the infamous Breakfast Club. Having been there previously for coffee, its been on my hit list for some time.

Now, any place called The Breakfast Club and which serves breakfast dishes all day, every day, can't really go far wrong in my book. We arrived to find a queue outside - clearly we weren't the only breakfast freaks. I am not sure who was more relieved when they let us inside - us or the poor people seated at the table next the window who had had to endure us pressing our noses against the glass oggling their food.

Inside, The Breakfast Club is kitsch and cozy and rammed. We were seated cheerfully on top of each other and beneath a gorgarse picture of The Hoff resplendent in Speedo and Santa Hat. We had already wrestled a menu off one of the other desperados camping in the queue outside and so we all knew exactly what we were having. The menu had me at Eggulars. But to be fair, I would happily cheat with the Mr Big Stuff section or one of the little beauties in the And Finally bit. 

Although I was really tempted by the Green Eggs and Ham (see the entry on Huckleberry's, LA for why), how could I resist a dish called Ham Very Eggstatic? Retrospectively, I should have waited for the monster of all hangovers to enjoy this beastie - a stack of pancakes laced with ham and cheese and topped with a fried egg. Oh and drowned in maple syrup to boot - apparently inspired by some bloke called Roger on Twitter. As (for once) I wasn't experiencing the stomach turning, grease craving clutches of a post mojitto overdose, it was actually too much for me and I would happy have swapped with Melissa who had the All American Breakfast (another but slightly less rich mix up of pancakes, bacon and eggs) or gone for one of the yummy French Toast  tasties.

Iain had the Full Monty. A most definitely man sized full English breakfast feast to be found in the Mr Big Stuff part of the menu. And Full Monty it was. He was still staggering around with a pot belly 4 hours of Soho rambling later.

I was gutted not to be able to have the Chocolate Orange Latte in the special Christmas drinkie section but they passed my stupid latte order test and made me a suitably milky vanillary concoction which passed the Beedub standard with flying colours. As did the fresh orange juice. So add to that the fact that you can eat Breakfast all the way until 5pm AND they have Eggs Benedict, Florentine and Royale, The Breakfast Club is most definitely a must.

There is no question that I will return soon, but I might wait until that special Sunday morning which dawns foggy with a hint of headache and a desperate craving for a gigantic eggy feast...

PS not to mislead those healthier than I, there are also loads of healthy choices and the smoothie menu looked lush