Breaking Fast in Cambridge and its Environs

While we appreciate, and wish to encourage others to enjoy, the finer and more august aspects of the palate, we are yet moved, altogether too often of a sunny Saturday morn, to hie ourselves down to a local toasterie and make our way outside of one or two rashers of bacon, slices of toasted bread, banger-sausages, and lightly fried chicken-eggs. We are fortunate to find ourselves among an abundance of establishments ready to ease over a yolk and home-fry a potato on demand. Herewith we shall provide a rounding-up of our local experiences, both positive and negative, of breakfasts eaten under and around the local weekend edition.

We caution the reader that the vignettes to follow are presented in no particular order, and we urge our dear reader to infer our scatter-shot rankings only from the content of our opinions.

Cora

With a Montreal pedigree and double-digit price range, one might expect something special from Cora. One will inevitably be disappointed. For this breakfast-house -- and they do, we assure you, specialize in breakfasts -- seems to have put the sizzle mostly forward, and the steak, if indeed there is any such thing, securely in a back room, defended by an angry, and possibly armed, leopard. On our two visits to the place, our breakfast was accompanied by a rather embarrassing construction of sliced fruits; the breakfast itself, however, was not so much constructed as tossed, with apparent abandon, at the plate. For this we paid, on average, in excess of twelve dollars per diner. The coffee was also inferior. We recommend giving Cora, as you would any other strange Frenchwoman accompanied by tropical fruits, a respectful berth.

Toasters

It was here, we can say without fear of contradiction, that we first encountered the term "Newfie Steak". While we were more than cognizant of these terms' individual connotations, we were at a loss to understand what their combination might signify.

"Fried bologna", our server explained when pressed, which seems unfair to Newfoundlanders, living, as they do, only slightly to the right of a large population that seems equally dedicated to the consumption of the very same emulsified luncheon-meat. However, we felt that any establishment wishing to hide its Bologna-style-sausage-related preparations must have some sense of discretion, and we became instant fans of Toasters. Having dined there numerous times, we wish to attest to the friendliness of their servers, speed of their service (even amid the Saturday morning crowds), appropriate temperature of their coffee, and enjoyableness of their food. We hope they continue there for some time.

Country Boy

We have heard rumours of ill-treated staff and inadequate food-safety procedures at Country Boy; this does not, it would seem, dissuade the punters a single jot, as they line up manifold at Country Boy to attend his breakfast-hour. The breakfasts here are at least harmless, and at best adequate; however, we cannot help but feel that said Boy has confused us with his cattle, and expects no more than to milk us and shove us heartily in the direction of the pasture. We find the food edible, but the loud and crowded atmosphere slightly less than tolerable. We expend the effort to make our way here very rarely indeed.

Cambridge Restaurant

Near the entrance of the Cambridge Restaurant is a photogravure from the inter-war period that depicts Preston's Main Street; a shingle proclaiming a restaurant may be clearly seen by any keen-eyed viewer. This attests to the establishment's fine and long-standing claim to the august address among Preston's finest and longest-standing businesses. Here, if one can find a table, it is well worth one's while to hail a passing waitress and order up an egg or two, accompanied by both sausages and hashed-brown potatoes.

However, we hope our reader will permit us a slightly amusing and thoroughly horrifying aside. On one visit to the Camb., we requested of a server some milk for our coffee (the coffee, we maintain, requires such doctoring to be consumed with appropriate weekend gusto). We were surprised at the alacrity with which she fulfilled our request, proffering in a quarter-second or so a small glass of the blanc-et-froid. However, we goggled -- yes, our dear friends, goggled is indeed the appropriate term -- when our dining-companion notified us that the speed was due to the server's acquiring the milk from a nearby table whose occupants had recently vacated. Upon a brief inspection, we ascertained a noticeable amount of women's lip-pigment affixed to the rim of the glass. We cannot say how we proceeded through the meal, but we assert that little more coffee was drunk that morning.

C.C. Family Restaurant

Under the tiger's head that adorns the C.C. Family Restaurant shingle are the words "BEER" and "ICE CREAM". While we cannot think of a way to combine either food, much less in the presence of a tiger, we were swayed by the nearly constant crowd at C.C. to attend there for breakfast.

The dining-room was packed with, as might be expected, diners; however, the servers managed new entrants with a cheerful mix of English and broken English, and we were never made to feel ignored or abandoned. Their menu is unadventurous, but the food was served at a speed and temperature that is to be marvelled at, even in this age of readily-available Tim Horton's Breakfast-Sandwiches. While the hash browns lacked seasoning, the meal was enjoyable and the buzz of other happy patrons around us was gratifying.

50's Diner

We have waited upwards of twenty minutes for a table at the over-large 50s Diner of a warm, clear Saturday morn; in the appropriate company, such delays are borne with a shrug and slight, permissive smile. However, upon being shown to our eventual table, we cannot help admitting that it is with a sense of a debt unpaid, because amid the erstwhile Buddy Holly and Big Bopper hits playing nearly without caesura, we cannot feel that the food lives up to its billing. Most meals are accompanied by a couple of ounces of seasoned baked beans; the eggs tend to be cooked well, and the hashed potatoes tend to be quite appropriate to the venue. However, we feel often that the lineup is not worth the hassle, and shuffle off to the Cambridge or Toasters instead.

City Cafe

What can be said of a bakery whose staff take such pains to serve their customers, whose bagels are hand-dipt in sesame seeds and baked with loving care in a wood-fired oven, whose coffee is pleasantly rich and safely organic and fair trade? We can only say that we despise the single-serving packets of cheese-flavoured edible oil products, and wish to eat City Cafe's bagels with a more appropriate condiment. Otherwise, however, the place is perfect -- indeed we understand the weight of such a judgement, and we stand by it! -- and we urge all who attend the establishment to happily round up the price of their purchase, and never request change from the workers there. We all must encourage this attention to both quality and humanity, wherever we find it.