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The Breakfast Blog: Koffee Pot, Manchester
Sometimes, only a full English will do. I’d had a couple of pints the night before – merely for medicinal reasons, you understand – so needed something that would fill me up. With a couple of friends visiting from home, it seemed entirely sensible to go out for a spot of breakfast.
I’d heard good things about Koffee Pot, in the Northern Quarter in Manchester’s city centre, so it needed to be tested. My, was it good.

Glorious.
The problem often with fry-ups is too much grease – which thankfully wasn’t the case here. The lure of proper Bury black pudding grabbed me straight away, as you’d imagine – and there’s a reason why it’s the best in the world. Here it was cooked perfectly – not too much to make it rock solid, not too little so it’s soggy and you’re left unsure as to its safety. The fried egg was solid white, with a runny yolk – and had obviously been in the pan just seconds before – it was piping (as was the rest of the dish, a good sign). The fried tomato was full of flavour, and not drowned out by the beans (which must have been Heinz…? Anyway, they were fine too).
Now I’m not usually a fan of hash browns, but here it was crisp and the inside fluffy. The bacon was crisp, and the sausage – always the indicator of a quality breakfast, in my humble opinion – herby, made of meat rather than bread, and again well cooked.
This, along with 2 slices of white toast (the best for fried breakfasts, of course), and a cup of decent builders’ tea, came to £5.50. A bargain. Just go.
Now for my friends. One decided the way to go was the bacon and sausage sandwich option.

Butty!
He declared himself delighted with this, and I particularly enjoyed the cry of “Butty!” that came from the waiter/chef when it was delivered to the table.
His girlfriend ordered the Portabella mushrooms, grilled tomato, spinach and fried egg on toasted brioche. Obviously I can’t vouch for the food, but she said she wanted to go back the next morning, which is probably a good thing.

If I were posh I might have ordered this.
Food-wise then, it couldn’t be faulted. It was exceptionally good value, and although it looks like a proper greasy spoon, it has great seats and a really nice vibe. What can be better than sitting down to a hearty breakfast while listening to Lauren Laverne on BBC Radio 6 Music? I was in some sort of heaven.

The Menu - specials also available
There were also a few specials available – on the day I went, they included Manx kippers and a full Irish breakfast. They do lunch too – and if the breakfast’s anything to go by, it’ll be good.
This is the place then for a proper breakfast – whether you have a hangover or not. I hardly needed to eat for the rest of the day, but spent most of it trying to work out when I could go again…
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The Breakfast blog: Teacup, Manchester
OH.MY.LORD.
I love Eggs Benedict. It is the greatest breakfast in the world, without doubt, and therefore I am on a hunt to find the finest example of the dish to be had anywhere. This may therefore turn into a breakfast blog…
So, to Manchester and Teacup. It’s a delightful little tea shop, owned by Mr. Scruff of music fame, which serves a quality cup of Assam.
It also serves Eggs Benedict.
I wasn’t expecting much really. I imagined I’d get two eggs, with thick, gloopy sauce, on two muffins or perhaps even just on toast, with some poor quality ham to go with it.
I could not have been more mistaken. This was an ungodly, devil-laden, beast of a plate of Eggs Benedict. It was, absolutely, up there with the finest examples of the dish I’ve ever consumed.
So, to the plate. Two smallish eggs, full of flavour, which split open to ooze deep yellow yolk. High quality, thick-cut ham on two hunks of light rye bread. Hollandaise sauce which was both light and extremely filling, and a sprinkling of capers.
Oh, and Horseradish sauce with a mighty kick.
That might sound a strange condiment to put with EB, but GOOD LORD it worked. I adored this meal.
All for £7.50 and worth every penny.
Plus: Incredible taste, delicate, full flavour, nice red decor.
Cons: I’m going to move here. It will cost me a bloody fortune.
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Little Chef, A64 Eastbound, Tadcaster

Heston, thanks.
So Heston – what did you do to Little Chef really?
TV lies. It’s inherent in the nature of it. It wants everything to be glossy; for transitions to be from horrific to wonderful; for bad to turn to good.
So when Big Chef took on Little Chef – to huge acclaim – there was a tendency to think it was all a bit of a TV con. Maybe he’d brought in proper chefs for the night the cameras were there. Perhaps the budget for that night was a little lax.
Not on this evidence. This wasn’t the Little Chef Mr B. had transformed, but instead one of a pair that had followed to test the formula. I expected something better than the standard Little Chef meal – cardboard sausages, bacon that probably hadn’t seen a pig in years – and all for an extortionate fee.
It was far better than that. Of course, I went for the Olympic Breakfast. You know what? It wasn’t just good, it was very good. The decor was bright and airy – it was clean, functional and actually quite pleasant. The food? You can see for yourself – it looks better. It looks the right colour. The bacon wasn’t too crispy nor wet and limp. The sausages actually contained meat and herbs – and were tasty. The eggs weren’t anaemic, but full of flavour. The black pudding was a revelation – not just good to bite into, but not making you scared for your health, and the beans felt like they hadn’t come from a tin with the word ‘value’ on the side.
My only criticism was the mushroom, which was cooked in a little bit too much olive oil.
I’m being picky. All this, and a good cup of tea, all for less than a tenner. It was just the right volume of food too… not too much, not too little.
I left feeling like I’d eaten a proper meal and got good value, and with only one question. Why the chuff haven’t they converted all of them? I’d drive out of my way to go to one.
Little Chef is back.
^J
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