Pass on Piggy’s, head to Hide: central London breakfasts reviewed

The centre could not hold, at least for Piggy’s. The drama of being the only greasy spoon in the West End — in Air Street, of all places — was too much, and it swelled, panicked, and fell apart. Yesterday I ate a mean sliver of almost cold bacon inside hard white supermarket bread. The butter had fled, possibly in the night, possibly with its luggage. There is a good, cheap bacon sandwich — I would argue the cheap bacon sandwich is the only good bacon sandwich — but it must have soft bread, crispy bacon, and butter as plentiful as a lover’s heart. This wasn’t it.

But what is a good breakfast in a city that is — like the new hotel inside the Trocadero, the Zedwell, pre-fabricated and built elsewhere, and shipped in — a box within a box?

3 Henrietta Street is named for its address.