Café Savoy

Vitezna 124/5, Prague 150 00, Czech Republic • +420 731 136 144 • Website

So famous for its breakfast, you actually need a reservation. Yes, for breakfast. And yes, they take them. And once you take a sip or a bite of just about anything, you get it. 

The café au lait is smooth and silky. The fresh squeezed orange juice would make Floridians swell with pride (granted I doubt the oranges are sourced from there). And the French Breakfast is like an opus on a plate. Scratch that, two plates. On one, you get buttery, flaky croissant perfection, split and stuffed with cheesy, eggy perfection. Sidled up next to a pair of link sausages, grain mustard and an inconsequential, poor excuse for a salad.

But fuck the salad, because the other plate holds a French toast from the gods. An Ultimate on a skillet, soaked to the core with goodness and then topped with macerated apricots and shredded apples, almost as if they were pulled from a strudel and placed on top. Which begs the question, if this is so damn good, why not just get the French Toast. But the genius of this order is that you get the savory and sweet at the same time. And to quote the wisdom of Lionel Richie, “Oh, what a feeling, when you’re dancing on the ceiling!” Granted, you should be careful while you’re up there, because the ceiling is really quite lovely. 

Café Paris

Rathausstr. 4 – 20095 HamburgGermany • +49 40 32527777 • cafeparis.net
 
 If it weren’t for the weather, Hamburg would easily be the Paris (or Venice) of Germany. It’s absolutely stunning with its lakes and canals and bridges everywhere. The architecture and the steeples strewn across its skyline. And clinching the deal are charming little haunts such as this, stolen virtually right off the streets of Paris and plopped squarely in the heart of town.

 

The ceiling alone will make you smile (pictured) and the vibe lives up to the name quite faithfully. As do the baguette and croissants. The cappuccino and oj are solid too. But should you veer too far from the French fare, the wheels quickly start coming off.

 

The English Breakfast is made with relatively bland eggs, bacon and beans and is just okay. Worse still is the American, which is a chewy pancake served with syrup and peanut butter. It’s inedible. But it stands to reason, since Parisians probably think this is what most Americans actually eat. Well shame on you Pierre, because it just cost you a knife. And not because I’m exacting revenge as a petty American. It’s because I’m exacting revenge for punitive damages on my mouth.

 

Also shame on me, I suppose, because when in Paris, one should order like a Parisian. Do so and you’ll do magnifique!