If you ask what I miss about home, it has to be the food. A very strange response to many but true. There is something about your culinary history which connects you to who you are and where you belong. And nothing does that more so for me than a proper English breakfast. Although Rome in most other respects satisfies a greedy person’s appetite for great food, where it falls down is breakfast. Coffee being of course the exception. But a dry, tasteless, poor imitation of a croissant (called cornetto) to accompany it just isn’t breakfast. Sugar just does not do it for me in the mornings. Recently, however the concept of brunch has arrived in Rome much to ex-pat delight. Unfortunately, while brunch to me means a late breakfast of bacon, eggs, toast, maybe pancakes or bagels, brunch in Rome seems to mean early aperitivo, in other words a buffet of pasta and salads. Delicious I’m sure, but absolutely not brunch. One place that has grasped the concept is Coromandel close to Piazza Navona. Scrambled eggs with bacon served in an individual copper frying pan and tea in a pot with a silver strainer. Not a greasy spoon I grant you, but close enough.
You Can Take the Girl Out of Bradford ... 