Bistrothque: A Revelation

Saturday. 11am. The night before is still lurking -that "I had one too many shandies, I should have gone home after the second pint, maybe I shouldn't have had that third whisky" feeling.  You need something to save you, to bring you back to life. Brunch, that is what you need.  And not just any old brunch. Coffee, certainly, bacon or something else suitably salty (smoked salmon perhaps) and eggs.  Yes, eggs, those great redeemers.  And since I lived with the great Jenko, they must be poached, preferably doused in hollandaise.

And so last weekend I awoke with that feeling - a faint memory of ending the night with a Kraken rum over ice - I just wanted to try it, I'd heard good things apparently! We needed brunch and fast. But where: L'eau a La Bouche on Broadway - a favourite, but too busy for today. No, I needed somewhere peaceful.  

Hidden down a lane off Mare Street I was to find the haven for my hangover - Bistrotheque. A converted warehouse filled with the tunes from the night before, but this time being belted out not by Bose but by a baby grand piano.  Peaceful it certainly is.

They do all manner of things from early doors (the beef tartare and burgers looked particularly good) but we stuck to the basics. The Fashionista had a single eggs royale with a side of avocado on toast. All as it should be.

I went for the eggs benedict - salty ham, gooey eggs, tart hollandaise and comforting muffins. On the side, some peppery black pudding. Suddenly I was alive again.

You may have guessed, I owe quite a lot to Bistrotheque. They saved my Saturday.  But the thing is, I don't think it was the night before that made it. It was just a nice place to be. The calming interior, the excellent pianist and the superb food makes you want to stay a little longer. Another coffee? Perhaps a Bloody Mary? Oh go on then! Hello Saturday!