I paid £56 to strive Britain’s most costly fry-up at The Ritz… so how does it examine to the traditional greasy spoon (with the identical title) that is solely £8.90 down the street?

For many Britons, there is no better way to start the day than a full English breakfast washed down with a builder’s brew.

Across the nation greasy spoons, brunch cafes, high end restaurants and even pubs offer the classic plate of sausage, bacon, eggs, toast, beans, tomato and toast.

And while most cafes will give you change from a tenner after ordering a fry-up, Britain’s poshest restaurant charges substantially more.

The Ritz Restaurant, which is inside the world’s most famous hotel, offers a Full English for an eye-watering £56.

But with a Michelin star – and roster of A-list and VIP guests-  is the super posh fry-up at the London hotel worth it? 

I decided to test it out – as well as an £11.70 cooked breakfast at the Ritz Cafe, a classic greasy spoon just down the road from the Ritz in Hammersmith to see how they stacked up.

THE RITZ HOTEL

Not wanting to embarrass myself, I donned a long black and gold skirt, cardigan and a pair of pointed kitten heels (not your usual greasy spoon ensemble) before tucking in. 

As I arrived underneath the arches of the famous hotel I was greeted by footmen in top hats who wished me a pleasant morning before showing me in to a thickly carpeted vestibule – where another member of staff opened the door and directed me towards the cloakroom. 

After dropping off my coat and being given a tasselled token, I walked through the golden corridors, covered in floor to ceiling mirrors and lit by huge chandeliers, to the dining room. 

There, I was whisked to my seat and offered a selection of pastries before I could even catch my breath. 

Having opted for the Full English I expected just that – but to my surprise I was presented with a towering mound of baked good, including a brioche (which was in fact not a brioche at all but an almond-filled oblong croissant), a normal croissant, and a pain au chocolat larger than my head. 

After taking my order for the food I had actually come for I, was repeatedly startled by friendly waiters dressed in tuxedos delivering fresh orange juice, Champagne, and tea. 

And this was no lukewarm builder’s with the bag left in. Staff at The Ritz presented me with a loose leaf concoction in a fine silver pot, with a cup and saucer in white and Tiffany blue.

The hot drink came with its own urn filled with boiling water, a silver strainer and a jug of milk.

Before I could even take a sip, more food arrived – as I was suddenly presented with a rack of toast, a dish filled with butter and six miniature jams.  

As I began to wonder when my fry up would appear, two women on a table next to me ordered a portion of caviar to finish off their meal.

At a cost of £750 for 50g of the delicacy, I decided perhaps I’ll give that one a miss. 

After my starter of pastries, the star of the show arrived.

On the large plate, decorated with the insignia of the hotel, sat two pieces of thin bacon, slightly burnt around the edges and a Cumberland sausage.

Snuggled up next to it was a Portobello mushroom head, five perfectly roasted cherry tomatoes carefully placed on top, and a tower of bright yellow (but tragically flavourless) scrambled eggs. 

After setting my plate down, the waiter returned in a flash with a tray of little silver containers and I was offered ketchup, brown sauce, French or English mustard and a selection of other condiments. 

Heinz had never looked so dressed up, but I declined. 

It was time to tuck in and see if the ornate presentation really did make a difference.

The fry-up was certainly a treat for the eyes – but sadly, wasn’t as much of a win when it came to the tastebuds.

The components didn’t feel particularly luxurious and I had to thoroughly salt and pepper the eggs and tomatoes. 

As I sat there chomping away, regretting wolfing down a couple of pastries earlier, I thought: ‘I reckon I could’ve whipped this up myself at home for under a tenner.’

After polishing off the plateful, a waiter removed the debris and presented me with some fresh warm toast, taking away the completely full rack of toast I hadn’t managed to try yet. 

I helped myself to a couple of thin, cardboard like slices, spreading large quantities of raspberry jam and then marmalade in an attempt to reinvigorate them but with little success.

The new hot toast was by this point cold once again because I had dithered for so long over whether to try the four other jams on offer: strawberry, apricot, blackcurrant or honey. 

As I crunched through what I thought must surely be the final stage of the breakfast, a waiter appeared out of nowhere once again offering me more tea, orange juice, (even more) toast – and presenting me with a bowl of fresh fruit and yogurt. 

 

I declined more drinks and gulped at the site of another course before trying a spoonful or two of the luxury French natural yogurt and the strawberries, blueberries and raspberries. 

Unable to get any more down, I gathered myself up to ask for the bill which arrived in a pale cream-grey book which concealed the eye-watering final total of £88.88.

The waiter quipped it was a lucky number and as I tapped my card on the machine I thought ‘not for me!’.

THE RITZ CAFE 

After recovering from the mountain of food I had enjoyed (and the sizeable bill) and I felt ready to tackle the Ritz once more.

But instead of returning to the luxury hotel, I changed gear and wended my way to Hammersmith to visit The Ritz Cafe, a classic greasy spoon round the corner from Stamford Brook station. 

Having gotten used to the finer things in life I was brought back down to earth with a bump when I had to open to door of the little corner cafe myself. 

And instead of thick carpet and chandeliers I was greeted by plain tiles, Formica tables with school-style seats attached and a bustling busy kitchen with the cafe owner busily taking orders and chatting with regulars. 

I went up to the counter and looked over the options on the blackboard, contemplating whether I wanted an omelette, salad, sandwich, or one of the five set breakfasts.

I decided against The Ritz Mega which came with a portion of chips and settled on egg, bacon, sausage, hash browns and mushrooms – with toast for an extra £1.

I opted for tea and an orange juice, Champagne not being offered on the chalkboard menu, and after ordering was told to help myself to a bottle from the fridge next to the counter while being handed a paper cup. 

I slid in to one of the plastic chairs and waited for my breakfast, pouring myself a slug of the fruit juice and thinking it was a far cry from the freshly squeezed drink I had enjoyed in an engraved wine glass only a couple of days earlier. 

While my eggs were fried and my bread toasted, I watched the stream of workmen coming in in high vis jackets with their toolkits and chatting away to the owner who expertly swept away the empty plates and quickly wiped down the tables. 

Before long my breakfast appeared alongside a large cup of tea in a saucer complete with a tea bag floating in it – it was a far cry from the silver tea service at The Ritz. 

I fished the teabag out of the milky brew and checked out the bottles of Heinz ketchup, HP sauce, vinegar, mustard, salt and pepper before settling on a splodge of ketchup which I added myself straight from the bottle.

The breakfast itself was clearly only a distant cousin to its more upmarket counterpart.

The first thing I noticed was the difference in portion size, with The Ritz cafe’s sausages and bacon bigger by half. 

I was drowning in mushrooms and the two hash browns were even bigger than the giant croissants on offer in the luxury hotel. 

It was after that that the ratio went awry.

With only one very small fried egg I found there wasn’t enough to go round and by the time I got to the end of the breakfast there was nothing to eat my bacon with but I was more than happy to enjoy it on its own. 

While not as beautifully presented, the ingredients didn’t seem too different at all, with the sausages tasting near identical and the bacon just as delicious – and much thicker.

One of the most important difference was that it wasn’t dry. 

The Ritz had attempted to re-invent the wheel (a foolish task) and in their haste to distance themselves from the greasy spoon had taken away all the… grease. 

The tower of scrambled eggs and artfully placed tomatoes looked beautiful but were so dry I needed a swig of tea with every other mouthful.

In contrast, the Ritz Cafe was drenched in oil and butter and the stand-out of the meal was in fact the toast for this very reason.

On a separate plate, not a silver wrack, and piping hot were two slices of white toast so slathered in butter they were dripping and were the perfect way to mop up the egg yolk.

After finishing my breakfast I stayed in my corner seat, sipping on my large cup of tea and watching the world go by, underneath posters of local arts and craft fairs, bands playing nearby and yoga classes before going up to the counter and asking for the bill.

As the owner totted up my order on an old fashioned cash register he informed me the total was £11.70 – an eighth of the cost of the breakfast at The Ritz – but he was cash only. 

As a completely cashless being I only had £2, a euro and a złoty and so dashed across the road to the little Sainsbury’s to take out a tenner. 

I came back and handed over the £11.70 to the smiling owner who wished me a pleasant day and told me to come back soon before turning to the next customer and asking whether they wanted tea or coffee with their bacon and egg roll. 

Having sampled the luxury of The Ritz and normality of the Ritz Cafe I concluded that for almost £100, even with unlimited pastries, the fry-up at the luxury hotel in Mayfair wasn’t worth it. 

I felt overwhelmed by the options and wasn’t used to the silent efficiency of the hordes of waiters appearing to fulfil my every whim.

While the Ritz Cafe had a no-frills approach, I felt more satisfied by the large breakfast – and I didn’t even need an extra yogurt or fruit.