You win some, You lose some

I like to think that the great explorers didn't hit the jackpot every time they set off in their wooden ships to discover the New World. There is a reason Tristão d'Acunha never made it to school history books, whilst his country man Vasco da Gama did: realistically, who wants to be the bloke who found the most remote, desolate place on earth?

Likewise, on my Sunday sorties to find Eggtopia, it would be safe to say it ain't always plain sailing either.Today was one such day.

To be fair, it did start well. I had a game plan and quest to sample the delights of Goode and Wright in Notting Hill. I may possibly have made my first schoolgirl error by optimistically strolling in there after the bells of St Peter's had chimed 12. Needless to say, in spite of there being three empty tables, none of them were be destined to be ours. They were reserved for much more organized people who booked in advance (who books in advance? On a Sunday??). To add insult to injury one of them was covered in trays of chopdribblyumptious pastries. So not fair.

I am nothing if not resourceful and so to my Plan B we headed - the Electric Diner. 
Game show buzzer sounds at this point. Sorry for you, lazy late sleepers with no ability to plan in advance, you do not win the prize of a cozy booth with gorgeous Waffley things, instead you win the choice of A. Starbucks Breakfast or B. a revolting breakfast in a place just down the road.

Such sadness. The food in in said place down the road was so bad, I couldn't eat it. Yes, even Beedub, who would eat crickets dipped in amazon mud if hungry, was defeated. Luckily as I am not a Jodi Piccoult fan and favour happy uplifting stories, I couldn't let the Sunday end with nasty congealed egg and soggy parma ham and so dragged Mr Beedbub back up Portabello road to find something crispy and loaded with sugar.

Pressing my nose on Goode and Wright's window (and possibly begging for crumbs off tables) started to embarrass Mr Beedub and just as he was dragging me away, we spotted L'Epicerie By Jimmy. Next door.


It looks like a random little pop up bakery. And it kind of is. As you walk in, there are buttery, cheesy, cakey smells wafting from a gingham clad table nestling below a cheery Self Service sign.

My sweet tooth started throbbing at the sight of the Pistacchio croissants, but it was a real battle between sweet and savoury as the Bechamel, Pesto, Mushroom & Truffle Oil Tartine smelt heavenly too.

Apparently it's all self service there and you can pick and go or find a quirky corner to eat there. We picked up a coffee for Mr Beedub too as he was worn out from the breakfast search drama. They serve Monmouth and they service it strong. He is still running up and down the street as I write this.



If you are looking for a leisurely, opulent Sunday brunch, then this isn't your place, but if you happen to love the buzz of Portabello on a Sunday, but really can't be arsed to get up early or book, then this fun little place full of french fancy could definitely save the day.

L'Epicerie By Jimmy
273 Portobello Road
Notting Hill
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How To Get There