Mistral, Boston

Talk about slack. So many months, so little blogging. And so many breakfasts to catch up on. So here goes nothing. A highlight to kick things off, courtesy of Mistral. A rather fancy place in Boston's South End, serving a rather delicious confit duck and root vegetable hash topped with fried egg...

Great American Bagel, Chicago O'Hare

If I change my first name from "Jamie" to "Professor" it doesn't really make me a professor. And calling a bagel joint The Great American Bagel doesn't mean the bagels are great. They are fine. But they are not great.

Golder Pear Cafe, Southampton

Nothing says you are home in the Hamptons more than standing in line at the Golden Pear

Alec Baldwin, F.A.G., budding politician, parenting role model

Hampton Coffee Co, The Hamptons

You wear clothes, so it's not breakfast. And you're not that hungry yet, so it's not lunch. It's the meal that won't commit.

Mystery Hamptons golfer comments on brunch

So, you're on your way to Shinnecock Hills, it's not quite lunch time, but you need a few extra carbs to power through 18 holes. Brunch is for pussies. What do you do? Easy. Grab yourself an egg and bacon sandwich at the Hampton Coffee Company, 869 Montauk Highway, Water Mill, New York, Tel +1 (631) 726-2633. Crispy bacon. Just the right amount of ooze from the egg. And a brioche bun as soft and fat as your worst bunker shot. Washed down with a freshly roasted house brew, it's the perfect pre-game pick-me-up.



Unfortunately I was on my way home from Poxabogue, rather than on my way to Shinnecock Hills, but the same principles apply. Sort of.

A Butler's Manor, Southampton

Greenwich, CT, may be the hedge fund capital of the world. But a short ferry-ride, and a quick spin in the Ferrari, and you're in the hedge capital of the world, otherwise known as Southampton. Great, long, neatly trimmed hedges, as far as the eye can see. Like a big green blanket, keeping your 11 room beach shack protected from prying eyes. But what about the rest us? Whither the Jitney class? Those forced to scrape out an existence on the wrong side of the hedge. Is a Hamptons holiday out of reach? Is there a life for us South of Route 27? Well yes, as it turns out. A very pleasant life at A Butler's Manor, 244 North Main Street, Southampton, NY, Tel +1 (631) 283-8550. And a very good breakfast, too.



It's a B+B, of course, so if you want the breakfast you need to buy a bed. But you won't be disappointed. Over three mornings, my favorite was an egg strata, which is an egg pie concoction, blending cubes of sourdough, chunks of ham, cheese, eggs, some veggies and a crusty cornflake topping. Baked to perfection by Kim and served with the touch of a seasoned butler by Chris. Very civilized.

This was the first time I'd had egg strata, and it was a welcome discovery. Who knew you could successfully combine eggs and cornflakes in one dish? And just when I thought I'd heard it all, another breakfast discovery lands in my lap. That same day, while chit-chatting over post-wedding drinks and nibbles (including mini-croque monsieurs, to my great delight), I'm asked if I've ever had scrapple. Scrapple? Never heard of it. Until now. But I'm already planning a trip to Pennsylvania to rectify this oversight. How can I resist the lure of a fried slice of pork mush topped with a couple of eggs? Let no part of the pig go to waste.

The only twist with breakfast at Butler's is that everyone dines together and everyone eats the dish du jour. This can be a good thing, since it eliminates the stress of choosing, and you can meet and talk to strangers whether they like it or not. But don't worry. Those with special food or social needs can always request special treatment. The hosts are very accomodating.

Almost French, Richmond

A baguette is very French. A scrambled egg and bacon roll is not very French. So I guess it makes sense to describe a scrambled egg and bacon baguette as almost French. And it was an obvious choice for breakfast at Almost French, 138 Swan Street, Richmond, Tel +61 3 9429 2080. Très très yummy.



The quality of the baguette made all the difference to this take-away breakfast. Light and crispy on the outside. Soft, fresh and ever so slightly chewy on the inside. And stuffed with scrambled eggs and a generous amount of crispy bacon through a slit along the spine. I was a little concerned that their re-heating technique might ruin everything (part microwave, part toaster-oven), but it worked just fine.

More bakery than cafe, there are, nonetheless, a handful of small cafe tables for dining in, from which you can admire the handiwork of local celebrity Mirka Mora. You might even get a chance to admire Mirka herself. She popped in for some bread while I was there.

Cumulus Inc, Melbourne

I have spoken before about grand master Andrew McConnell's special culinary powers. The legend continues at Cumulus, Inc., 45 Flinders Lane, Melbourne, Tel +61 3 9650 1445. He calls the place an eating house where breakfast is done simply. But since when do "eating houses" dabble in molecular gastronomy? Breakfast done simply my arse.



Not that I'm complaining. He can tinker around with the slow poaching machine and other scientific experiments as long as he likes. The failures can go in the bin. And the winners can go on the menu. Like the 65/65 egg. Slow "poached" in its shell at 65 degrees for 65 minutes, this is one perfect eggy-wegg. Just soft and slightly oozy all the way through. Genius.

If he keeps coming up with dishes like this, McConnell may soon be challenging Wylie Dufresne for the "Egg Man" title. In fact, now that I think of it, they share an eerie resemblance, especially in the haircut department. Not that I'm accusing Andrew of ripping off Wylie's look.

The 65/65 egg is served, sans shell, on a slice of crunchy sourdough toast, surrounded by smoked salmon, sprinkled with a few shreds of sorrel and dill, and topped with miniature apple soldiers about the size of matchsticks ($17). I contemplated dunking my apple soldiers in the egg yolk, but that would have looked a bit stupid, so I just shovelled bits onto my egg and toast.

If you're hungry, a better option may be the Full English ($18), which includes toast, farmhouse slab bacon, fried eggs, blood sausage, and smoked tomato. I am a big fan of the smoked vegetable, by the way, and the Tom Cooper smoked tomato they serve at Cumulus is no exception. Which reminds me, if you ever make it to wd~50 in New York, you should not miss Wylie Dufresne's smoked mashed potato (served with cod). It rocks. But I digress... For something a bit healthier, try the Bircher muesli with grated granny smiths and almonds ($10).

Coffee, service and venue are all excellent. But I have absolutely no idea why they named the place after a cloud.

20/20 "smokin"

Jamieson Grille, Alexandria

"Death ray my ass" said the patent attorney leaning in from the window "It hardly even slows them down"

It might not be such a good idea to book a window seat at the Jamieson Grille, Westin Alexandria, 400 Courthouse Square, Alexandria, VA, Tel +1 (703) 253-8640. It's right near the USPTO and crawling with patent attorneys. Scary.



Being quite the daredevil, I plonked myself down at a window table and ordered the "poached organic egg salmon benedict" with wilted spinach, English muffin, and "olive oil citrus hollandaise". And that's what I got. One egg. One muffin. Note the careful use of the singular for both "egg" and "muffin". It's a lawyer-proof menu. You want two eggs? Order two serves.

What would be funny would be to re-write the menu in patent-speak: at least one meal of salmon benedict including at least one egg served together with at least one muffin and at least one portion of salmon accompanied by hollandaise sauce wherein said at least one egg is poached, said at least one muffin is English, said at least one portion of salmon is smoked and said hollandaise includes olive oil and at least one form of citrus extract. And let's not forget the dependent claim: the aforementioned salmon benedict, served with at least one leaf of spinach wherein said at least one leaf of spinach is wilted.

I won't attempt this for the whole menu. Instead, I will share some brief highlights. Like blueberry orange granola flapjacks with citrus berry salad, warm maple syrup and whipped butter. Or baked organic egg and chicken apple sausage with spinach and artisan marscapone. Or steel cut oat brulee with honey glazed green apples, bananas and toasted pecans. They called them "steal cut" but that must be a typo. I'm sure the Westin would never serve stolen oats.

The Jamieson is a very swish venue, with good service and reasonable prices if you don't mind half portions. Except for the Starbucks coffee, which, at $4.50, is daylight robbery.

16/20 "nice egg"

Jack in the Box, Los Angeles

This particular Jack-in-the-Box breakfast dish was called the "Ultimate Sausage" breakfast sandwich. But I'm struggling to see how this could be the ultimate in sausages. Perhaps they mean "ultimate" in the sense that "this is the last sausage you will ever eat..." or ever want to eat? It's so bad, it will put you off sausages for life.



Actually, that's a bit harsh. It was no worse than a Macca's sausage patty. And I did eat it all. In fact, it went very well with the fluffy buns and stick-to-your-teeth plastic cheese. But I can think of many more enjoyable ways to consume that many calories (570 calories per serve, apparently).

Cafe Bruce, St Kilda

Bruce Springsteen. Bruce Willis. Bruce McAvaney. Bruce Ruxton. Bruce Almighty. Bruce Beresford. Even the Australian federal electorate of Bruce. They all take their place on The Wall of Bruce, at a cafe called... you guessed it... Bruce, 134 Carlisle Street, St Kilda, Tel +61 3 9537 1088. A celebration of Bruce-ness to rival The Wall of Gaylord.



Unfortunately the breakfast offerings at Cafe Bruce are unlikely to rival its competitors in the Carlisle strip. Eggs come in two forms. Microwaved scrambles on toast. Or toasted pide with fried egg, bacon, rocket and relish (which was quite good). Otherwise it's toast, muesli, porridge or toasted ham, cheese and tomato.

Bruce is really an espresso bar, with a side line of toasted pide. The focus is on the coffee. So much so that the Barista (I'm guessing his name is Bruce), stands smack bang in the middle of the cafe in what you might call a coffee booth.

It seems only fitting to end with a tribute to Bruce, Monty Python style. Enjoy...

The Commoner, Fitzroy

I'll bet they don't serve food like this in prison. Unlike the "bran flakes and milk, hard-boiled eggs, a bun, jelly and fruit juice" that Paris Hilton is currently not eating, the fried egg sandwich at The Commoner, 122 Johnston St, Fitzroy, Tel +61 3 9415 6876, is hot. They call it "Honky". And this is one Honky worth speeding across town in your Bentley for.



The Honky really is an excellent egg sandwich. Two thick slices of Babka white bread, filled with a fried egg, crispy pancetta, rocket, aioli and harissa. Loaded with flavour. But not quite perfect. The yolk, you see, was still very much in liquid form. One bite and your hands, plate and the table below are covered in bright yellow goo. You have been warned. Unfortunately, I wasn't.

Paris, as we all know, was warned. But she, like, didn't understand that, like, she might end up in, like, a small cage wearing orange overalls (which are so last season), eating bran flakes. Helloooo... bran flakes? Can't I, like, order in a Bacon & Egg McMuffin?

Even Tony "The Rug" Mokbel is moaning about prison food. Who do I have to shoot to get a decent espresso 'round here?

Luckily, I was able to score a very nice latte at The Commoner without any threat of physical violence. But if you like it strong, you should say so. The default brew was a bit weak for my taste.

16/20 "honky"



Eggs & Bacon $12.00 BB100 +20%

Pepper, Flemington

These days, 44 Pin Oak Crescent, Flemington is a cafe called Pepper, Tel +61 3 9372 2726. Back in the good old days it was known as Girdwood's Hygienic Library. Not a filthy, disease-ridden library where any old scum could poison the books with their nasty germs. But a nice, clean, private lending library where the books were fumigated with formalin between each read. I'm guessing Pepper smells much better than it did in the good old days. But you never know what you might catch off the communal newspapers.



With quite a few glowing reviews under its belt, I was hoping for a top tier breakfast. The sweetcorn hotcakes, however, were no match for Mart 130 or Replete Providore. They were good enough, but nothing to rave about. I quite liked the combination of crispy bacon, rocket, tomato and aioli. I was also impressed with the poached egg I ordered as a side. A nice, fresh, free range egg, poached pretty well.

Other food options worth noting include the Breakfast of Champions (eggs, bacon, sausage, mushrooms, tomato and homemade beans on toast) and the Pepper's Breakfast (smoked salmon, homemade potato latkes, tomato, spinach and tomato relish).

Service was a bit slow, but friendly, and the Monte coffee was good (for an extra 20 cents you can upgrade to an organic East Timorese brew). Weather permitting, they have a few tables on the street outside, where you can fumigate your lungs with Marlboro Lights.

14/20 "latkes"



Eggs & Bacon $8.00 BB100 -20%

Fuzzy's Grub, London

Little did I know that, as I tucked into this sausage and egg sarnie from Fuzzy's Grub, on the other side of the world Eddie McGuire was boning himself. Luckily, there were no bones in my bangers. Just meat, and the usual extenders they stuff them with. Tasty.



Ordering at Fuzzy's proved to be something of a challenge. It all started smoothly enough...

Me: "A toasted sausage and egg sandwich on granary, please..."

Fuzzy: "Yes..."

Me: "And some HP sauce..."

Fuzzy: "Sorry?" (confused look)

Me: "Some HP sauce..."

Fuzzy: "Some?" (more confused look)

Me: "H... P... sauce..."

Fuzzy: "H... P...?" (totally confused look)

At this point it occurs to me that this particular Fuzzy's guest-worker has a less-than-perfect grasp of English, and despite the use of "HP sauce" on the menu above her head, is not fully up to speed on her brown sauce brands. So I connect the dots...

Me: "Brown sauce..."

Fuzzy: "Aaaaah... brown sauce... yes!"

And so we were back on track... until further down the production line, when I'm asked if I would like some salt and pepper. At this point I used what I thought was international sign language for "a little bit" and made that gesture where you hold up your index finger very close to your thumb... the kind of gesture that can ruin a man's reputation in the bedroom... you know the one.

Fuzzy then proceeded to drown my sandwich in a blizzard of salt and pepper, before asking me if it was OK. I think she may have seen the look of horror on my face.

Me: "No, it's not OK, but it's too late now, so don't worry about it..."

And that was that. The sandwich was a bit spicy, but otherwise very good. Once you learn to speak Fuzzy's, it's easy to see why people keep coming back for more.

Eurostar, France

With a 20% jobless rate, the young French are, in the words of President Sarkozy, being "ceaselessly sucked in" by Britain. The Eurostar generation is packing its baggage and heading for London, the city of dreams. At first the authorities laughed off this youthful exodus as nothing more than an age-old tradition of the French going off to civilize the world. Now, they're getting desperate. They have to turn things around. And what better way to shatter the great British dream than a serve of old-school British cooking?



Yes, my young French friends. This is what's in store for you across the channel. You can forget about fresh croissants and heart-warming coffee. It's time for microwaved muffins, mushed up egg, soggy bacon and plastic cheese. Welcome to the land of opportunity.