Grace orders the veggie sandwich, no eggs. "If you don't respond to the demand of a trend you're behind, we'd end up losing out." Philip tells me about the vegan options being added to the menu, like their new Vegan Full English. They tell her that anything veggie on the menu can be made vegan. (Classic vegan.) "For the sake of all the vegan Londoners out there," Grace adds. The first thing she asks is what's vegan on the menu. "I like it!" Polo Bar’s interior is somewhat, interesting…Īt 1pm Grace, my vegan friend, shows up. The interiors "very British, but very weird," Geneva answers, referencing the eclectic, taxidermy grizzly bear to her left. I ask them what they like best about Polo Bar. They've come to London from Barcelona for a university open day at Central St. Nearby young at heart Ron and John are literally young Geneva, 17 and Pablo, 19. "Good breakfast, good atmosphere," they agree. They're best friends who meet up monthly to walk around London. I venture upstairs, and through a midst of 'Friday fizz' and working lunches, I run into two great men: Ron and John. Maybe you'd get it at Duck & Waffle or somewhere fancy like that, but I imagine that’s more of a "Hello Jeeves, I'll have my regular table please" relationship - not one where jokes about semis are the usual crack. The amount of regulars is impressive for somewhere so central, especially at this price point. Shantha tells me she likes Polo Bar because she can order whatever she wants, in any fashion. No butter." Popping his head out the kitchen, he shouts, "I knew it was you! No one else orders A SEMI!" The most memorable of regulars, Shantha, comes in around noon. I wonder where else in London two such different people would be found doing anything but barking at each other to move down the tube carriage at this time of day. They're laughing along to their newfound friendship - who knows what it started over… a dropped fork? Both been to legs, bums and tums? Friendly kitchen staff So comforting, I notice two tables behind me have started chatting an elderly lady and a much younger man in a gym kit. The place is heaving with noise, the good kind, the kind that's comforting over breakfast. Aside from the suits, there's not one person in here that looks at all similar. This is, I realise, going to be an interesting day. They absolutely do not disappoint, and now I'm not sure whether to class this place as a 'caff' or a 'cafe'. I feel all warm inside as I pull up a chair - and I haven't even had my first cup of tea yet.Īt 9.30am I order the eggs royale with salmon. There's a personable nature to everyone that works at Polo Bar, and a homely vibe to the cafe. To be fair, I'd become a regular if it meant being greeted by Philip's glass-half-full demeanour every morning in an area that isn't necessarily renowned for its friendliness. The pastries that launched a thousand suits. "HELLO BRENDA HOW ARE YOU TODAY?" Philip chimes gleefully down the phone - a phone that is in constant use between the hours of 8 and 9.30am. There's even a phone regular I gather: Brenda. They pile in, some smiling, some preparing themselves silently for the day ahead. And them being lauded by Philip's sunny greetings every morning. Rob runs a financial services company and comes in here most mornings for his coffee. I stand aghast at his barefaced lie, until I realise he's not speaking to me, but the man behind me, Rob. "You look very smart today, as always!" Philip Inzani, born and bred Londoner - and Polo Bar's owner - exclaims from behind the counter as I saunter up. Suits and suitcases queue out the door from the moment I arrive. Just in case I had any doubt, this is the sign that greets me through the door. I arrive at Polo Bar at 8am on a drizzly Friday morning, bright-eyed, bushy-tailed and ready for action. A badge I shall wear with honour until some poor sod spends 25 hours there. And C, I am now officially the person who has spent the longest at Polo Bar ever. Why on Earth would I want to spend that long anywhere, let alone a caff? Well, A, insanity.
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