Last weekend in London, Neil made a brilliant full fried breakfast. It was so incredibly wonderful. Breakfast in Copenhagen might be good, but the application of heat seems uncommon. Even the bread is raw. This seems strange to me, in the land that supplies Europe’s bacon.
I’ve already made Mark agree to a big breakfast on my first morning in Ireland this weekend. There will be grease, I say.
A couple of times now, I’ve been pissed with various train problems and their interference with my gaining my rightful breakfast (the good, though not greasy, one at work), and detoured about København on a quest. This morning, I jumped on the Metro and went to Christianshavn, to one of the best bakeries in town. Denmark, where the Danish in Danish comes from, is pretty serious about its baked goods, and this place is fairly amazing.
I had two chocolate croissants (to chokolade croissanter). Fresh from the oven. Crispy on the outside, warm and gooey inside. As good as you imagine it was.
My other quest was for great coffee. I have Seattle-based standards for coffee, but I was confident that the place that employs the world barista champion could deliver. Verdict: Meh. Good coffee, but no Victrola.
ToDo: Invent Brilliant Title 
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