Five minutes’ walk to the west of Highbury & Islington station you’ll find Sunday on Hemingford Road, which – misleadingly – is actually not only open on Sundays. And, regardless of its founders’ woeful grasp of basic SEO principles, it makes the best pancakes I have ever had, anywhere. Brace yourselves; I’ve got photos.
The queue is always three-deep but moves swiftly, especially in the summer when they have the garden open, but it’s worth the wait. We must have tried to get in ten times before we actually made it (because we are permanently impatient and ravenous, and it’s easy to just try again next time when the countless other bruncheries of Upper Street are just around the corner). Its jam-jar ‘n blackboard aesthetic is a bit on the twee side for me, but the food is absolutely top-notch.
Now, I never, ever order sweet brunches. I am a savoury person through and through; at BBQs I’m the one who sacks off the trifle to make room for that spare sausage, and at picnics I’m the bastard who’s stratgegically sat themselves in between the Scotch eggs and the cheese straws. HOWEVER, the stack of blueberry pancakes I saw someone two tables across sucking down was so exquisite that I, for the first time in my life, ordered what was effectively a dessert for breakfast.
And, well, they were magnificent.
And I’m not even a pudding person, so if you have a sweet tooth you’ll be all over this like a rash. A huge stack of thick, pillowy American-style buttermilk blueberry pancakes served with bacon, maple syrup and something called honeycomb butter, which came as a little pat of pure happiness (and type 2 diabetes, probably). My God, it was obscene, the perfect balance of sweet, savoury, sticky and salty. Also very filling; those pancakes are thick.
Accompanying me was James 2, who ordered the Sunday full breakfast, and Merce who was feeling a bit delicate after a monstrous night out so opted for the poached eggs on sourdough toast.
Nothing surprising on the drinks menu; there are lots of lovely bottled things to slurp on, and the coffee is pretty good too. It’s one of those places where they like to draw leaves and shit in the lattes though, so don’t expect it to come out quickly.
The quality of the restaurants is pretty high around Upper Street, but Sunday really is in a league of its own. It’s a fraction more expensive than its competitors, but they also do the best food I’ve had in Islington. It’s the sort of place that’d be perfect to take a date the morning after the night before, if you get me. It’s 99% certain to get you a second round.
We went to Sunday at around 11:30am on a Saturday morning and waited around 15 minutes for a table. Service was a little on the slow side, but the restaurant is so pretty and the ambience so chilled it doesn’t really matter if you’ve got interesting people to talk to. You can find Sunday at 169 Hemingford Road, N1 1DA (look for the queue!) and their latest menus and opening hours on their Facebook page.
Author: Emily Gibson
Emily is an urban adventurer, blogger and
glutton foodie on an epic quest to uncover the best things to eat, drink and do in London. She lives in East London and loves ceviche, cycling and magic shows. Lifelong nemeses include beetroot, beards and wine served in tumblers.