Even if not, it should be. A work day is an entirely different thing when preceded with in a cafe with friends, a long black and a slice of crispy, melty, light, fluffy banana bread. I didn't even think I liked banana bread until this arrived dusted with cinnamon and icing sugar.
Then, then, you can walk into work slowly, with time to spare, while you smile serenely at the blur of couriers, commuters and taxis... and still be the first person in the office. (Spare your colleagues the smug smile though.)
Suddenly your life is not just home-work-home. It's home-cafe-kiss-kiss-coffee-food-chats-iknowi'llbelatebuti'llhaveanothercoffeeanyway-chats-kiss-kiss-relaxedwalktowork-work-home. It's even possible to remain awake while you work and [gasp]
For the past few weeks a few of us have been systematically ticking off all of Time Out's favourite cafes in Soho. It was their idea. I thought they were crazy and snoozed my way through the first few, laughing while Michael dragged himself out of bed to go for breakfast at this stupid hour. Then one morning I finally managed to drag myself out of bed too (OK, Michael did, by my feet) and I at last discovered the joy of being awake before a large proportion of the world, and having quality time with friends before work.
Another reason communal breakfast is good: there's no booze. (So far.) This means that all conversations are carried out in an entirely sober fashion and the risk of embarrassing yourself in public diminishes dramatically.
Cappucino in Foxcroft and Ginger (my favourite so far, not necessarily for the atmosphere, but for getting both the food and the coffee so absolutely spot on, a delicate balancing act that few get right).
Fresh, warm pomegranate muffins in Kaffeine.
Crunchy homemade muesli and fresh fruit, made with love at warm, bustly Lantana.
Crispy croissant and hearty cappucino (I see a face too) at Tapped and Packed (called only 26 outside). Liked the homely jars sitting on the table and tacky souvenir spoons on every saucer.
Bright sunshine on a leafy latte outside The Espresso Room on Great Ormond Street. The first petit dejeuner of the year en plein air.
Beautiful scrambled eggs wolfed down feverishly after an ill-advised 'night before' at Milk Bar, the original Antipodean cafe I believe (after its sister Flat White). Myself and my friend Julie involuntarily screamed with joy when they arrived causing the cafe lady to laugh at us somewhat.
And these were accompanied by a rather splendid piece of macchiato art (which tasted just as splendid). Those lovely Ozzies and NZers have given London a gift of great coffee and cafes for which we should be truly grateful. Banish all thoughts of Castlemaine 4X and crocodile wrestling, it's coffee-induced happiness that they should be remembered for. I'm writing this from Berlin and can assure you that London is blessed with an unbeatable coffee culture. Berlin is full of wonderful cafes but it's baffling me how they can get the coffee so wrong, so often. A few years ago I probably wouldn't have noticed but I now know that the coffee bit of my tongue has been royally spoiled by London.
Wilton's must be mentioned (again) here. By far my favourite place to be on a Sunday morning.
Even if they did spell my name wrong.
Then, from nowhere, just as I was about to move to Berlin and leave all this behind, came a surprise trip to the Wolseley. I had been boring everyone for ages about this place, having the name in my head somehow, and thinking it was a London institution for hundreds of years. In fact it only opened in 2003. And my am I glad it did. What a suitably regal and elegant end to our little breakfast club, a very kind treat from our friends Julie and Karl, who will be very much missed. Julie's face was priceless when her haggis came out swimming in brown sauce. 'Yelp' is the only word that can describe the sound that came out of her mouth. It seems the subtle flavours of this English staple aren't quite appreciated by French palates.
Doesn't that just warm your soul? Looking again at all of them, I feel I am one of the luckiest people alive. Yep, it doesn't take much. A cup of good coffee and a crispy croissant and I'm happy. I leave you with the most sensible advertising message I've seen in a long time, put up by students on the route of on of my post-breakfast walks to work.
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