Notting Hill

I spent last Sunday - like the predictable upper-middle class, London-dwelling millennial I am - in Notting Hill.
Alessia is back in town for a limited season, so it would have been irresponsible not to pop into the most secret and discreet of hidden gems, Granger & Co. You've probably never heard of it. It's pretty underground. Almost deserted, I would say. Innywho, after a frickin year and a half of waiting for a table we chowed the f down, and it was spectacular. Last time we frequented The Grange I went for my classic brunch combo of fries & a cappuccino (I don't need your judgement, I lead a perfectly happy life and this is not only cost effective and readily available, but suitable for hangovers and covers both requirements of white carbs and caffeine), but this time it was an occasion for some big city ballin'. In other words, also avocado toast ft. eggs and EVEN. EVEN some pancakes. I don't even like pancakes. But the mood really. was. just. that. jazzy. Pics of said bruncharama below.

Fun fact I was just genuinely confused when my browser just said 'bruncharama' wasn't a real word.

After said multi-course monstrosity we decided to go for a walk, because we're wholesome and functional and everyone knows a Sunday stroll is the perfect way to keep active and get some fresh air. Also we wanted to take photos for instagram. Mission bloody accomplished, let me tell you that. Never underestimate the power of a large shrub and some shade. I'll keep this brief, but suffice to say I am very pleased to have my brunch buddy back in the hemisphere for a few weeks. In further exciting news, as of yesterday Louisiana now lives in London, which is maybe the best thing to happen ever, and an indication of more brunches to come.

I hope you enjoy these lovely pictures of our leisurely Sunday, and I will talk 2 ya on the morrow. x0x0