Wayan'e

A first trip to Mexico is essentially a challenge to see how many tacos you can eat in a week. So taco eating starts early in the day. And if we weren't at the market, we were at Wayan'e. Aguas frescas helped us recover from the super hot, super short walk, and tacos followed.

Our order: all the breakfast tacos available (which turned out to be the perfect amount—not all on the menu were available). They made our typical Brooklyn bagel breakfasts seem a little underwhelming: freshly pressed, super thin tortillas topped with softly scrambled eggs, fresh greens, rich black beans, a dash of chili, soft onions, a splash of hot sauce (danger! super hot!), and whatever other veggies they had on hand that day. So much work went into every taco, with no fuss, no pretense, no unnecessary fanciness. And yes, you're right, I was jealous of the other people having their breakfast meetings over this breakfast platter.

Wayan'e, 412,  Calle 59 408, Centro, Mérida, Yuc., Mexico

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Eggs Florentine

It was normal Saturday morning, a trip to Broadway market, coffee at Climpson & Sons, lots of cake oggling, fish purchasing at Fin and Flounder, and a stroll through London Fields to E5 Bakehouse to buy the best bread around. As we selected our loaf (raisin and walnut this week for those of you who are interested), I spied some freshly baked English Muffins. As soon as I'd seen them I turned to B and exclaimed 'Eggs Florentine!'. His eyes lit up; two were added to our bread purchase.

So on Sunday morning, after a rainy Victoria Park run (I am really enjoying only doing a normal size run now that that half-marathon is over!), we set about creating a very late breakfast of Eggs Florentine.

A few nervous, fluttery butterflies in my stomach as it was the first time we had made hollandaise. All I had heard about making it was that it was really tricky and often went wrong. This was not what I wanted resounding in my head as I put my life (breakfast is life) in Felicity Cloake's hands, trusting that her trials of multiple hollandaise recipes had led her to the best solution. After many, many minutes and much whisking, it started to come together: I had a rich, creamy, silky hollandaise in my saucepan. I did a little jump for joy.

The muffins were toasted and buttered, the spinach was wilted, the eggs were poached, and the hollandaise was poured over. A sprinkling of pepper and we dove in. B declared it the best breakfast we've made. That's a compliment. 

E5 Bakehouse, Arch 395, Mentmore Terrace, London, E8 3PH.

Felicity Cloake's recipe for the perfect hollandaise can be found here.

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Towpath Café

B and I have run past the Towpath Café on Regent's Canal many, many times. Every time I've looked with envy at the happy people sitting in the sun, sipping coffee, tucking into breakfast, cake, coffee, cocktails and lunch while I trot on past, admiring the eclectic mix of furniture and the tiny, narrow kitchen right which almost pours out on to the pathway. Today being recovery day, we meandered up the canal at a slower pace, moving aside to let the runners and cyclists pass, admiring the warehouses with beautiful balconies and long windows overlooking the waterway, until we arrived at breakfast. 

We looked around dubiously as there was a spare table in the sun that noone was fighting over on this bizarrely sunny Sunday morning. It was only when I realised that we were there really rather early for a Sunday (sleeping in is not my forte) that it all made sense. Coffees soon arrived and a little while later (lots of rumbling from my tummy by this point), breakfast followed. Creamy, steaming porridge with caremaly oranges and lumps of melting dark brown sugar for me. Why is it that no porridge I ever make at home is as good as this? Something I plan to rectify soon. I think it might have to involve dismissing porridge as a healthy start to my day. B had the simply described 'Fried eggs on toast'. Simple it was, but in the best way. Slices of lightly toasted sourdough piled high, with runny yolked fried eggs layered on top, the edges crispy and dark. As a final flourish, the buttery frying liquids had been poured over the top. Yum was the consensus. More proof that butter is always a good thing.

A perfect breakfast spot for a sunny weekend morning. Get there early before the crowds arrive, as they did when we got up to leave.

Towpath Café, Regent's Canal Towpath, N1 5SB

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Ginger and White

This weekend saw silly amounts of eating out. A gorgeous brunch with C at Pimlico Fresh (I was so excited by this place that I forgot to photograph it so will have to go back), perfect dinner at Trullo with B (blog post to follow!), and last but not least, brunch with T at Ginger and White. 

I rarely venture up to Hampstead, it always seems like a way away. But really it's not. And it is oh so beautiful that I turn into a real dreamer and start planning my future millionaire life in a terraced house with a blue front door, a full and blossoming garden, and many hours to spend wandering the streets, running round the heath, swimming in the ponds, living the life of luxury. Brunch at Ginger and White only encouraged my fantastical thoughts. 

This tiny little cafe, tucked down a cobbled side street, has rather made a name for itself serving fabulous coffee (sourced from East London coffee roasters Square Mile), marvellous cakes and a stupidly popular brunch. In fact it's so busy and so well loved that they've had to open another, bigger site down the road at Belsize Park.

Three of us arrived at 11 and grabbed the first seats we could get hold of, soon moving to the cosy little corner table where B bagged the arm chair and we all settled in. We weren't going to be moving for a while. 

Freshly squeezed orange juice (actually freshly squeezed, not just pretending to be) and cups of much needed morning coffee were followed by enamel (what else?!) plates full of potato soda bread covered in the yellow-ist scrambled eggs and generous slices of smoked salmon for me and T and homemade baked beans with chorizo and crumbled feta for B. The best scrambled eggs I'd had in ages, and perhaps the yummiest baked beans that I've ever tasted. The plates were soon scraped clean. More coffee was ordered and more hours whiled away. Just another reason to move to Hampstead. I'd happily make this a Sunday morning routine.

Highlight: Yellow eggs

Lowlight: Too many people are in on this secret

Ginger and White, 4a - 5a Perrins Court, London, NW3 1QS

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Nigel Slater's Passionfruit Roulade

Easter Sunday is a time for a celebration meal. An extravagant one. One that doesn't happen often in the year. Christmas, Boxing Day, birthdays, and Easter.

So it's no surprise that this pudding that was a family Boxing Day tradition has gradually migrated to Easter over the years. It fits both perfectly well. I'd happily eat it all year round. A bright, light, creamy, acidic passionfruit roulade. 

Nigel Slater places the roulade on Boxing Day in his Kitchen Diaries. It's the perfect pudding for a holiday, as it does take a little while to prepare. And a lot of care.

The time consuming nature is only increased when you suddenly realise that the lemon curd you had intended to use actually went off in May 2012. Curd crisis. Crisis increased when I remembered all the lemons had gone into yesterday's lemon loaf cake. So lime it was. Adding another half hour to the journey time, but totally worth it, and actually to be recommended. I followed this very simple recipe which did the trick (when doubled in quantity), and all the leftovers were enjoyed as breakfast the next morning. Crisis averted and turned into a happy improvement.

Rolling this roulade, the final, crucial step, is nerve-wracking. I admit to not breathing while doing this. Very un-yogic of me. I also find this is best done with a glass of wine placed somewhere nearby in case of a disaster. Also very un-yogic of me. But my best advice is to be gentle yet also - as Nigel says - 'forthright'. No one minds a crack here and there. It will taste just as good, and you will have more of that homemade, rustic farmhouse vibe so sought after in the blogosphere. Yum.

The recipe can be found here. Along with a lot of other fabulous words and recipes.

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Village East at Bermondsey

To celebrate not doing the marathon this year, we went out for brunch. 

Village East is the older sister of one of my favourite brunch hangouts, the Riding House Café. Village East is similar, but with a more 'exposed brickwork' vibe.

Another fabulous foodie hangout on Bermondsey Street. Several seating areas make it feel intimate, a variety of large tables, sharing tables, bar stools, armchairs, lots of reclaimed wood and bashed metal, and the perfect amount of impeccable design. A favourite being the red salt and pepper shakers and constant water refilling. Yes, I'm easily pleased.

Having sheepishly asked for the coffee and juice menu when we had been handed the cocktail list and wine list (we're not that cool), glasses of colourful, zingy liquids arrived. The food menu could then be examined.

The juices were tasty and on the right side of health-giving. C's was the favourite, laced with coconut water as it was. Coconut water is the answer to most of my prayers right now.

I had soon devoured my Eggs Florentine (again, I know, I'm sorry, but I can't resist), C her bowl of steaming porridge, and B his 'Campfire breakfast', otherwise known as pork, homemade baked beans, and fried eggs. Lots of yummmms and smiles all round.

The service was perfect, just the right amount of attention without being too overbearing and intimidating. And the bill didn't make too big a dent in my wallet. 

We walked home in the sun, feeling slightly guilty for the lack of marathon running, but with happy tummies, and discussions of possibly running the marathon next year. But maybe I'll just go for brunch again instead.

Highlight: Perfectly poached eggs

Lowlight: Juice envy

Village East, 171 - 173 Bermondsey Street, London, SE1 3UW

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