The Ambassadors

Living in London means that I've learnt there's nothing worse than sleeping late on a Sunday morning and discovering that your chosen venue stops serving eggs at noon. I'm always on the look out for a nice place to get brunch.

I'd been meaning to get to the Ambassadors in Exmouth Market for a while now so Bri and I took a break from delivering unwanted furniture to a variety of Australians and dropped in to read the Sunday papers.

It's a funny old space; all formica and plastic banquettes in a palette primarily of sludge green. There's a table full of newspapers for the grown-ups and some colouring books for the kids. I was heartened to see the table next to us were having tea and sharing a large, old-fashioned brown teapot. The menu, in a sludgey plastic folder, natch, was short, but offered many distractions. Should it be the Londoner's sausage sandwich? A goat cheese omlette? Homemade waffles with sweet-cure bacon? Oooh, you can have a poached egg with that too. The menu's not long, but it's perfectly formed. You could have a simple breakfast, some museli with sourdough toast and their very moorish homemade seville marmalade, or go the whole hog with a three coure lunch. We took a middle road, with some toast and coffee to start and then the sausage sandwich for me and a parsnip, bleu d'Auvergne and walnut salad for him.

It was all very, very good although the sandwich defeated me. This is seriously good sausage, but they might want to think about serving it in a smaller bap. I'll be back; I'm already planning a post-Killy supper with John!