Yes ladies and gents it’s breakfast. The art of refuelling and powering your body to make it through whatever various schemes you have plotted for the next 5-8 hours. Usually a meal I skip during the working week at home; but possibly one of my favourite meals to eat out. Indeed, when it comes to breakfast I’m all about the eggs (no scramble).
Given this fact I have been particularly excited about what breakfasty based goodness NYC has to offer me and today is my first solo opportunity to go scouting for some eggs-elent breakfast (egg pun:smashed it! *groan*).
Having said this, I do tend to get quite anxious when I am somewhere that breakfast is in abundance on every street corner. I have a specific FOMO (fear of missing out) in regards to breakfast and feel the need for assurances that i’m going to savour every mouthful; so much so that it will have some profound cosmic impact on the rest of my day. Sometimes I don’t in fact make the right choice and am left with eggy anxiety (eggxiety?) and then that’s the day fucked up right there. Just ask my best friend Jessica the perils of not acquiring me a winning breakfast fare on a long day out. Absolute nightmare.
So it is on this gorgeous sunny morning in NYC, feeling completely overwhelmed and bored of Lonely Planet that I turn to trusty Instagram for inspiration. Having read an excellent article in The Guardian pre-travel I am well aware of the benefits of using social media to source sustincence. A hazy x-pro II lit snap of eggs (where social media and the science of breakfast collide to produce perfectly proportioned protein) with 100 likes and that’s simply all it takes to source my egg fix for the day.
I jump on the D train and head to olio e piu a scrumptious looking trattoria in Greenwich which promises me exquisite Italian fare and is open 24/7.
When I arrive in the blistering 80 F sunshine (that’s 27-ish to us Brits) I am blown away by the beauty of this simple restaurant. With trailing ivy climbing the walls of this open fronted slice of heaven; old iron chairs, tables and blooms from the florist next door also sprawl out onto the pavement.
I pitch up outside and peruse the menu. Wishing I had a bottomless stomach I reluctantly settle on ordering only one breakfast plate and eggs with Parmesan polenta is on its way alongside a giant steaming mug of coffee in no time at all. I take the obligatory snap to post later to Instagram then take a bite. Fuck it’s good. It’s the best thing I’ve had in my mouth all day. I feel smug as fuck.
I savour each mouthful and drink in the surroundings and blissful sunshine. Yes people passing by in the streets! I have eggs! They are amazing! I’m a fucking superhero! Smug git factor 20.
I’m sad when I’m full and it’s time to leave but I feel satisfied than Instagram has led me to a complete jewel of Manhattan. As such, I set about the rest of my day with vigour and I just know it’s going to be a sunny-side-up kind of day…