In which we play with our food, or: eggy bread goes pretentious

I would love to open a restaurant or do a cookbook where every dish is an upmarket version of take-away food. Most of the joy would be in making sure the menu only used the original name, with not a mention of jus or fucking foam anywhere. Gatsby anyone?

breakfast at The Annex, Kalk Bay

Omelettes and scrambled eggs are the true test of a good cook. Utterly simple, but demanding full attention and perfect timing. Wonderful or inedible only seconds in either direction. If I had to criticise, I'd say the plate could have been warmer. But the scrambled eggs and salmon were so good that they didn't really have a chance to get cold.