Morning glory

LEE TULLOCH reminisces about the five-star morning ritual she’s been craving.

- LEE TULLOCH

In the years we couldn’t travel because of the pandemic, the one thing I missed the most was breakfast. Not any kind of breakfast – I could eat my oatmeal at home, after all – but a long, slow breakfast enjoyed in a grand hotel dining room, the kind of room that has starched white tablecloths, silver cutlery and five-star service.

I’m completely besotted with the whole ritual, from my chair being politely pulled out for me as I arrive, to the final porcelain cup of double espresso, often my third. From the little pats of butter, sometimes monogrammed, to the last morsel of maple syrup-soaked, crisp waffles or fluffy scrambled eggs. The way my napkin is folded for me when I get up. The way my more unorthodox requests, such as apple cider vinegar in hot water, are never questioned and delivered with style.

I’m often the first one in the dining room and one of the last to leave. Because of the nature of being a travel writer, I mostly dine alone, pacing the meal over a couple of hours so there’s an excuse to be stationed there for an indulgent length of time. I’m not the type to have a quick coffee and run. I love playing posh, being waited on, a portal into another, more refined world, before I have to venture outside and into the harsh realities of the day.