Jacqui – Sep 2014
After a night out with MrF at The Old Parsonage, then subsequently on to a house party (am I back in my twenties?!), the pair of us made the most of our child-free time and took the next morning really rather easy. In bed till way past seven – if you have kids you’ll know that’s impressive – it seemed like the perfect morning to pop out for a cooked breakfast. Having had several rums the night before, I gave up no fight when MrF decided it was high time I tried the Full English at City Arms Oxford.
Jeans, t-shirt and trainers thrown on, we trudged our way through the drizzle, a few hundred feet down our hill to what MrF affectionately refers to as ‘The Arms’. Perfectly situated on his way home from work, The Arms has ale and plays sport, even his beloved Ipswich games. It was fate the two should collide.
He’d tried their full English already, for lunch, and had raved about it overcoming low expectation. Not the most appealing recommendation, but certainly worth a try. So on this lazy rainy morning, a pot of tea for me, a coffee for him and a full English for each.
Two sausage, two bacon, two egg, two hash brown, tomato, beans and toast. A little excessive, but on a mild hangover I wasn’t taking any risks. Drinks arrived first – my tea in a mug, rather than the advertised pot. It looked a nice colour and the mug was at least white, though tasted so bad I had two swigs and pushed it aside. Generic pub orange juice would do until the food arrived.
On arrival, the pile of fried fodder looked surprising ok, though admittedly my expectations had been low. MrF on the other hand had higher expectations and his face fell. Diving in brought initial satisfaction – standard baked beans, fried eggs with runny’ish yolk intact, recognisable and tasty hash browns and rather pleasant toast. The bacon was nothing to write home about, thin and easily disintegrated. The sausages the low quality mass production type, reminiscent of school meals. The more serious crime, however, the positioning of the butter atop hot toast, leading to a dribble of liquid butter upon opening.
Sometime around the halfway point, my enjoyment levels flagged. The grease levels seemed to be building and fatigue was setting in. Time to call it a day and head back to camp.
Unfortunately for ‘The Arms’, I was yet to be impressed. Maybe that’s for the best though – MrF gets to keep his sanctuary, while I get to stay home watching Great British Bake Off.