Once again, Lizzie K finds herself eating humble Unilocal pie and updating her review(you got me, Dan P!) For the better part of two years I lived a stone’s throw from this little joint. BF and I got a coffee here once very early in the AM, which is amongst the worst I’ve had. Since then, at least once a day we’ve strolled past the Spot with angry faces, observing the clientele, firmly seated on the pension-y, slightly bogan-y side. Which, I suspected, means the Spot makes for a damn fine cheapo breakfast. We decided to give the Spot another go some 6 months ago. We’ve never looked back. For $ 10, you’ll dine on a plate of Eggs Benny bigger than your face, served on an immense disc of buttered Turkish roll, slathered in Hollandaise. BF is partial to their«Backpacker’s Brekkie», an amalgamation of poached egg, sausage, bacon, beans and chips sure to smash through any hangover. And those CHIPS! Greasy and crispy to the max. Must be thrice-fried, but actually made extra-fatty and crunchy in the process. Take that Neil Perry! Oh, and you get a drink included($ 14 all up from memory.) But the piece de resistance, the crowning achievement of the Spot, is their brekky focaccia($ 7). Fried egg(but not done to death), crispy bacon, fresh sliced tomato, tasty cheese, and lashing of «aioli»(which I’m fairly sure is just plain poor man’s mayo), all piled onto a herb focaccia and toasted up in the sandwich press. It’s a waistline-busting, calorie-laden way to start your day, and might possibly be up there with my fave brekky sandwich of all time. BF and I live in a posher part of town now, one where the mention of a bacon egg roll automatically means a brioche bun from Sonoma, organic house-made tomato relish, Berkshire Valley bacon from pigs who gleefully swim in mineral salt baths twice a day for relaxation and where change from a tenner for the pleasure is non-existent. Places like the Spot restore my faith in humanity. Be cheap and cheerful, be greasy, be proud. Just don’t go there for the coffee.