Food, London, Review

Brick Lane Beigel

Though I normally would have more pictures (like seven, rather than four: content counts kids) of visits to restaurants – though in this case ‘joint’ is more apt: in context ‘d’ya wanna go to that beigel joint for breakfast this morning?’ – I was in and out of the place before I could even query whether gherkins cost extra, and price regardless, whether my boyfriend (pickle fiend – I think they look like shriveled alien willies) could have one with his hot salt beef? Ironic* really, that he missed out, because he was the one hurrying me. Anyway, though we could postulate on his gherkin-grief for an undue amount of time we won’t, largely because it would have been a far greater private tragedy if we had been drinking (we had Brick Lane beigels when we were sober: try it my friends) and it hadn’t been breakfast time  (hot salt beef and mustard beigels for breakfast is freaking inspired if I do say so myself) and we’d already had a shot or three of caffeine and therefore could cope. I say cope: I still endured a snowball to the spine because apparently throwing hard-packed ice missiles at your shorty (I’m so excessively ‘street’ sometimes it hurts) is acceptable on snow days. Git.

{Bulk quantities of gherkins, coffee and mustard}

Before this post’s over I’m compelled to point out that of the two, side-by-side twenty four hour ‘Brick Lane Beigel’ joints (adventures in copyright, if they weren’t so busy baking), we went to the white one. Rather than the yellow one. A bit like Neo choosing between the red and blue pill, but with less malevolent computers and more mustard and confusing spelling of the food-stuff I’d normally spell ‘bagel’.

{Breakfast, at proper prices}

{So much fresh bread, so little time}

*Speaking of irony, I saw three hipsters cycling through London Fields carrying skis (and attendant poles) like they might start bicycle jousting this Saturday. I’m not sure where on the irony-meter this fits (post-ironic? Supra-ironic? Ironic by proxy? The overarching irony here is the boys with the skis would probably have an answer) but if East London doesn’t go home and eat itself tonight then it should be ashamed.

*Asterisks are my new favourite thing. Consider yourselves warned.

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