The Thousands

A cafe breakfast is kinda like a foster mother. We give them our tired and sleep-deprived, our hungover, and hungry masses. And we need to be nursed, cajoled, bullied and fed, then weaned off the soy flatties to be reborn into the world. This is how I managed to sit at Clover on a Sunday morning, waiting for breakfast for forty minutes before realising we hadn’t actually ordered yet. The adolescent waitstaff had mistaken us for self-sufficient adults, when we were just babes in morning woods.**Clover’s a perky contribution to Annandale’s coffee mile, with its recycled timber bench seats and bright playroom vibe. The chalkboard menu promises clever combinations. French toast speaks with a middle eastern accent when befriended by sweetly spiced labne and pistachios. The prosciutto, fried egg and mozzarella melt was a bit of a let down, but redemption might be sought in a luscious sounding watermelon, eggplant and halloumi salad.

Clover may not quite be a new colossus (she’s only little), but they’re lifting the proverbial lamp beside the golden door (from 6am!) to deliver you into your day.