Bottomless brunches are here to stay in the capital. You know it, I know it. Neil Rankin definitely knows it.
It’s only been open for few months but his Bad Egg has already solutionised for casual daytime weekend alcoholics. It’s a bargain £30 flat rate for 2 hours of cava, mimosas and Bloody Mary’s – just don’t fuck about, as your time starts from when your waitress puts pen to paper for the first order. No pressure.
The food is normally an afterthought at these affairs but Bad Egg absolutely nails it with their menu. You get to pick three small plates from a good-sized choice of American diner and Asian-influenced dishes, and what really works is you can order your dishes separately in waves, thus expanding the window to soak up booze.
A couple of us started with the slightly wanky but fantastic cheeseburger hash, a deconstructed cheeseburger (minus bun) with home fries and a perfectly soft fried egg on top. Crack that yolk, watch it run into the rest and tell me you don’t get turned on. You can’t, can you?
After several mimosas I moved on to the Korean fried rib tips. Ohmaagawd. Little morsels of succulent rib meat in an outrageously sticky sauce, it’s easily one of the best things I’ve eaten half cut. I asked the waitress if she knew exactly how good they were, but she said she didn’t as she was a vegetarian. ‘I just really care about our planet’ was her exact response. Spare us.
A bottomless brunch tactic I’ve picked up is you MUST set the expected refill pace yourself – I’ve found that smiling as you push your empty glass to the end of the table will just about avoid you getting a slap. I was expecting cheap plonk but the cava was actually really nice, and Bloody Marys were first rate.
By round three it’s all about the fried chicken. With caramelised banana, maple syrup & French toast to be exact. This is exactly what I want brunch fodder to be: dirty, delicious and calorific as fuck. Lush.
My mates gave the breakfast tacos and French toast with bacon & maple syrup plenty of love; the beans with pulled pork and kimchi on toast less so but they still happily got polished off.
Before we knew it we were issued our 20 minute warning for drinks orders. It was quite a marvelous display of natural preservation to see how quickly everyone switched to Endurance Mode, downing at a rate of knots to bump the grand total up to 42 drinks between the six of us. Well done Team Manchester.
I’m not going to lie, I crashed and burned in the hours that followed. But as we took the lift up to the Sky Garden with a full stomach, content and positively battered, I wondered whether Saturday afternoons in London could get any better. I’ll let you know if they do.
City Point, 1 Ropemaker Street, Moorgate, EC2Y 9AW