Until recently, I’ve really not been one for big, complicated breakfasts. I’ve standardly eaten a bowl of cereal, though recently branched out into porridge with banana since discovering the ease-of-cooking with a microwave at work. Yum. But, then, breakfasts became ‘in’, what with The Breakfast Club and all. I even starting meeting a policeman friend for breakfast, because early mornings seemed to be the only times we could coordinate to meet. And it was with him, before setting off on a group holiday in Wales, that I ate Kopapa’s Turkish Eggs.
“[I]t feels like this is a power-breakfast, that will propel you through the day with a smile”
First things first. ‘Hot chilli butter’ (on top of the poached eggs and whipped yoghurt) – that’s not going to be in solid form. But it’s only when said friend points out that that’s what this clear, reddish liquid drenched all over must be that I realise quite what an all food groups (fat, fat and fat) meal this is! To be honest this is a surprising revelation, because the dish is both fresh and light. It’s hugely flavoursome, with the chilli marking a (gentle) punch-in-your-face wake-up to go with the more traditionally breakfasty eggs. The yoghurt, fluffy and light, ensures a tangy bedrock for the dish, which rewards delving-deeply with your spoon.
I’ll admit, I was glad of bitter coffee to cut through what could (especially if rendered by a less sure hand) have ended up a cloying mess of a dish. Instead, it works well, with a side of sourdough toast giving a wholesome feel to what is supposedly the most important meal of the day.
I fear this review rather unreasonably focuses on the calorific aspects of what would be a treat of a start-to-the-day (if only for the cost), and everyone knows that calories before midday don’t count (NB: this may not be a view endorsed by the medical profession). In fact, it feels like this is a power-breakfast, that will propel you through the day with a smile on your face and a smug feeling of having explored the world’s culinary boundaries before you’re out of your (proverbial) pyjamas.
It powered me to Wales, at least.