A few weekends ago, I schlepped way out to Clapton (re: east London) in search of a colorful antidote for the London greys. My friends Kyle, Sasha and I sought refuge in art-deco brunch haven, Cafe Miami. Cue the Will Smith, baby.
Covered in pastels and kitted out in instagram-ready neon signs, Cafe Miami adds a much needed pop of panache to Clapton’s winter gloom. We grabbed a table (luckily no wait midday on a Sunday), and proceeded to wait entirely too long to order.
Several members of staff hung out for ages behind the counter seemingly avoiding eye contact with guests, as we and other tables grew more frustrated at the lack of service and attention. The south Florida pastels could not quell our frustration. After finally flagging down a member of staff, we managed to convince them to take our order. Very disappointing service experience overall.
Luckily, once we received our food, the spread, like a ray of South Beach sunshine, made me (almost) forget the lackluster service.
Sasha had the basic betch approved avocado and halloumi toast.
She gave her, not see easy to receive, seal of approval.
While I took no prisoners, avocado or otherwise, and went for the waffle burger. Topped with chorizo, egg, avocado and hot sauce, the dish was a beautiful, dripping in yolk porn, monstrosity. Fact: Mexican food makes the best breakfast (really any meal tbh).
Cafe Miami is worth a visit if you’re in the area and not in a rush. While the food, especially my waffle masterpiece, definitely entered the London brunch hall of fame, the service really downgraded the entire experience. I wouldn’t travel out of your way for a Miami pilgrimage.