This is a magnificent place. Just when I thought I'd lost my ebcb mojo we spend a couple of days in Dorset and bump into this joyous establishment. It's so fine it's featured in a lovely series of paintings. I haven't been this excited about a cafe in ages.

Let's start with the food. Well, it's perfect. Just the right portion size, fat chip-shoppy chips, a classic egg, plopped on top, and a lovely bean sea abutting the bacon and egg landmass.

Again, classic condiments, simple not fussy, just the basic, what you want.

But it's the interior that's really lovely. It's a big place. Chip shop meets cafe meets big communal meeting space. It's right next to the coach station and was obviously once packed out all the time as the people of Bridport traveled to and fro and tourists arrived - like some sort of medieval coach house.

Which means there are a few more entertainment options than the regular cafe. It's a staging point, a place where people wait, hang out, pass the time. So there are fruit machines and some space invadery machines.

And the decor, and general vibe, is just lovely. An accretion of styles from over the years, all of it fun and friendly and simple.

Rather like the signage; a great selection of periods and styles but all of it appealing, making you want to go in.

This is a great place. If you're ever in the area you must pop in.

We dashed in here at 7am on a very, very cold day. To be honest we'd been hoping to find a place with real brick walls.

But we needn't have worried. The fry-up was magnificent and the welcome was, er, welcoming. There's a sweep to those chips isn't there? A curve of direction, and intention. And as was pointed out on flickr, the egg and beans form a comet up through the galaxy of the fry-up. Nice bacon too. As my companion said, this was a good, big breakfast, but it also felt like a healthy one.

It's a shiny, bright, well-appointed place. Lots of yellow.

A telly is always a good sign.

And some other media choices.

The condiment choice is kept simple and classic. All quality stuff, no watering down with vinegar. (I guess that would be vinegaring down.) And they've thought about what you do with your tea-bag when you're tea's sufficiently stewed - they provide a little bowl. Magnificent.

Perhaps today wasn't the day for sitting outside. But one day...

The only problem is I'm not quite sure how to tell you where it is. It's off New Road, near a big junction with the A13, in or near Rainham. It's next to a company called Tile Action but I can't find an address for them either. Anyway. Keep your eye out for this big yellow sign and if you see it, follow it. You'll get lovely grub and a splendid place to bide a while.

Ah, this is a tremendous place. Aberporth is a lovely little beach town and this cafe is perched above the bay, next to a handy car park. It's the perfect place to retire to after some mucking about on the beach or in the sea.

The ebcb is bloody delicious. And arranged on the plate with some Joe Colombo flair. Look at the way the verticals of the chips intersect with the dottiness of the dots on the plate and take that same circular energy into the twin ovoid forms of beans and egg. And...actually, I can't do any more stupid designer talk. Those chips are just too delicious-looking. I'm getting hungry just looking at them now. Fat, crisp, delicious. And though that bacon looks a little pale in this picture it was actually very tasty. This is splendid grub. Really well done. I don't surf. I barely paddle. But I can imagine this sort of calorific input would be the perfect response to a long morning's wave-riding.

Simple, classic condiments. Sauces reduced to their essence. Brown...

...and red. This isn't ketchup. This is purer. This is Red. (And a rare example that retains it's plastic cappy bit.)

Piping hot tea. I think the British seaside would be completely unbearable without ready access to piping hot tea.

We didn't really go inside. Only to order. Because the prospect of a table outside was too alluring. Sitting out under a big Welsh sky is the perfect way to eat. You can't quite see down to the beach from the cafe. The beach is implied.

But if you just nip over the road you can see what awaits you. The slacker parents among us might consider this close enough for 'keeping an eye on' children.

Next door there's a magnificent beach shop.

And, just on the front, a fantastic flag flapping in the balmy Welsh breezes.  A great place this cafe, you should get yourself there.

Just metres inside the North Circular, George’s is located in a rather loveless wasteland of north-east London but serves up some excellent grub, notably the Greek dishes and the breakfasts (esp. the huge Greek and ‘Amerikanas”). Cuttings on the wall tell the story of how many years ago George Massos entertained diners in the West End with his golden voice and how, four years ago, he travelled to Australia to give some special shows to raise cash when this very café as good as burnt down.

The ebcb was workmanlike,  very tasty but possibly with no exceptional character of its own. The chips are in a slight cluster, as if very fond of each other’s company, while the beans push the chip and bacon together like some kind of matchmaker. The bacon was succulent and on my plate had a nice peninsula running through it, bringing to mind Puget Sound in The Great Gatsby*. Ideal for yachting. The egg just minded its business, as if not really part of the gang. I’m afraid I don’t know what the liquidy condiments are – I was afraid to try them.

Service is speedy, there’s always sport on the plasma screen, and there’s the (not uncommon for a London cafe) array of Scarface and Godfather memorabilia on the walls.

*Commenters have pointed out this should probably be Long Island Sound

I'M AFRAID SOMEONE'S JUST EMAILED TO TELL ME THIS PLACE HAS CLOSED. BIG SHAME.

Great Scott, this is a magnificent place. Just when I thought I'd seen all the best places on my usual routes I looked in here, which I must have walked past a dozen times this year, and it's brilliant.

It's sort of like a capsule EBCB, a bonsai EBCB. Not the biggest ever but perfect in many regards. Look at those chips to start with, they run the gamut of shapes and sizes, from gorgeous big fattypuffs to shrapnelly thinfers. The bacon is pink like joy and the beans and egg act like sea and shore at the beach, each contrasting with the other to make a perfectly relaxing environ.

It's possible that I've run out of ways to describe egg, bacon, chips and beans.

Suffice to say, this place does a great fry-up.

And all the anciliary joys are in good order. Magnificent condiments. Proud and Victorian.

A great cuppa. My fault for that dribble into the saucer.

And the interior is just lovely. Deep, aged, loved colours and textures. Booths, benches and browns with tiny little additions that grab the eye.

The calendar.

The lights.

Just everything really.

This place is magnificent. Go here.

Just when you think the seam of magnificent cafes has been exhausted this splendid place hoves into view. And it reminds you what makes a brilliant cafe. It's not special ingredients or faded formica, it's effort. It's continually making an effort, injecting some care and energy into the place.

Which is not to say the food isn't important. It is. And this stuff is splendid. Big piles of high quality stuff. No scrimping here. If food equals love (and I think you'll find it does) then no-one loves you more than the Star Cafe Grill.

Those chips are brilliant. I want them all over again. I might go tomorrow. I will. I'll see you there.

And a very good, civilised cup of tea.

It's a big old place too. Lots of space. Big, generous booths. Lovely colours.

Simple condiments. Nothing fancy, but a pleasing roundness to the bottoms.

A bargain.

That's what I mean by effort. Someone's sat and made that menu art, they're injected life into the place. Brilliant.

And those illuminated photos are the same. I love those things; they're the stained glass of cafes. Secular altars.

And then there's these gorgeous plastic flowers. They don't have to have them. No-one goes into a cafe for the plastic flowers. And yet they do, because they show that someone cares. Someone's making an effort. Splendid stuff.