that breakfast at Cafe Paradiso...

... is not for the faint-hearted. If you're the kind of person who can only face a cup of coffee first thing, look away now. Everyone else, please take a deep breath.

OK, first up, how about some porridge? With whiskey-soaked sultanas? And brown sugar? And lashings of fresh-as-a-daisy cream for that added cardiac-inducing effect? And more cream on the side? OK. You got it:

Actually, I think the whole lot was whiskey soaked, never mind the sultanas. Oh, and for the record, that bowl was the size of King Kong's dinner plate. Heh, but I was on holiday, you know?

And precisely because I was on holiday, it seemed pointless to stop at the porridge. Surely I could manage a mere 'scrambled eggs with lovage on toasted sourdough with roasted tomato and potato hash'? I mean, I'd be a wimp to turn it down, right?

Ahem.

To give you a sense of the dimensions involved, that plate was a foot long. The two pieces of sourdough were an inch thick. The potato hash was probably the tallest building in Cork.*

(*This might be a slight exaggeration. Then again, it might not.)

Still, remembering my duty to you all, I was undaunted. Undaunted, I tell you.

Those scrambled eggs were amongst the most delicious I've ever tasted. Just golden, rich-yolked eggs, butter, and a smattering of lovage leaves. The lovage - think of a taste somewhere between sage, celery, and parsley - was inspired. It cut through the richness of the egg with an earthy, faintly peppery and gently savoury note. Fabulous. If you've never had scrambled eggs with lovage before, make them this way FROM. NOW. ON.

Not that The Other Diner was missing a trick, either. No, this is what was being swiftly devoured and oohed and aahed over across the other side of the table...

... 'pan-fried oyster mushrooms with chives and soured cream, grilled bread and rosemary aioli', no less. I must admit, I nicked the odd mushroom here and there. And they were very, very good indeed. I would have nicked more, but I wanted to live to see the rest of my holiday. The Other Diner can be vicious when provoked.

The great thing about these breakfasts is that you really don't need to eat anything more until the evening. Except you do, because this is Ireland. But more of that in another post.

I have to say, I was a little less gung-ho the next morning. Instead of the full-blown breakfast, I managed a few oatcakes, Knockalara cheese, gooseberry chutney and rocket and tomato salad. I don't know why I didn't photograph them for you, because it was just the most gorgeous, zingy plate of yummy stuff. I think it's something to do with being mesmerised by The Other Diner's considerably more valiant effort at demolishing this:

... 'poached eggs with spinach on toasted sourdough* with warm cherry tomato and avocado salsa' (*opted for in place of the poppyseed bagel. We absolutely fell in love with the sourdough over there).

Those eggs? Yep, perfectly cooked, thanks:

The rest? Really rather lovely, apparently, as well as being an absolute picture to look at. The tomatoes were, like mine, small, sweet, and bursting with juiciness; the spinach was earthy, meaty, and melting; and the rest, I am told, couldn't be faulted. Except, that is, if you're a fan of small portions, in which case you might have had due cause to complain.

But like I say, this is Ireland. Small portions simply don't exist. What are you - a wimp or something?