Rochelle Canteen: In search of the best scrambled eggs on earth

This post is the thirteenth in our England 2015 series.

When we starting making our bucket list of things we’d like to do in England, I noticed that I didn’t have very many things that were meaningful to me, personally. There were lots of things I wanted to do with my family, but it was hard for me to identify activities that were a must-do for me. I finally came up with two: I wanted to go running in London (you’ll read later about how that turned out), and I wanted to visit Rochelle Canteen.
A mural in Shoreditch.

One of my very favorite things to listen to when I go running is Spilled Milk Podcast. Hosted by authors Molly Wizenberg and Matthew Amster-Burton, this silly and irreverant food podcast often has me laughing out loud as I jog around our local park. In their episode about scrambled eggs (starting at 16:47), Molly talks about an amazing egg moment:

I had the best scrambled egg and toast experience of my life at a place called Rochelle Canteen in London…. They’re insanely buttery, and they’re large-curd, but they’re perfectly cooked, sitting on a piece of toast that is so thoroughly buttered, butter is practically dripping through the holes of it. And the egg is buttery, but somehow it is not greasy and disgusting. It’s like salty and buttery and toasty — almost brown-buttery. It is so good.

Did she say butter? Yes, she did, and I was determined to get to this restaurant and try their scrambled eggs.

We looked up Rochelle Canteen and learned that it was an odd bird, tucked away in Shoreditch, a hipster neighborhood 45 minutes in the opposite direction of anything else we wanted to see in London. Not only was it inconveniently located, it seemed that the entrance was sort of mysteriously hidden, like you needed to know about this special place to even realize they served food here. By the time we noted all the obstacles, I was beginning to lose steam. But Jon could tell that this outing would make a memory for me. So Wednesday morning, we gathered ourselves together and headed out for a spectacular breakfast.
At the entrance to Rochelle Canteen.
How did the gargoyles find us — again???

Once we arrived and determined that entry was gained by activating the small apartment-style buzzer, we found ourselves in a city garden-patio. A sheltered area, open on two sides, offered seating, but we headed for a table in the full sun, taking advantage of the wall of wide-brimmed hats available for UV-protection. The air was cool, the sun was warm, and we were the only guests in the restaurant.
Hats available in the background.
Can you see the sun hats on the wall back there?

Breakfast at Rochelle Canteen.
Look at all that glorious butter.

By some fluke, we all ordered scrambled eggs on toast except for Rosie, who ordered granola and yogurt. The eggs were, indeed, incredibly buttery and amazing, served with house-made orange marmalade on the side and tiny dishes of salt and pepper. Lucy didn’t like her eggs and Rosie rejected her plain whole-milk yogurt with health-conscious granola (think pumpkin seeds and not quite enough sugar) topped with stewed rhubarb — so Jon and I ate two breakfasts each, plus tea and coffee, spoiling our appetites for the rest of the day. Luckily, the girls were satisfied by a few bites of buttered toast and a pint (each) of fancy organic cold-pressed apple juice. We paid a ridiculous sum and went on our way.

But was it worth it? Definitely yes.

Read the next post in our England 2015 series: The Glories of Kensington: Uncovering magic inside and out.

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