Eggslut, a US deluxe egg sandwich chain that will no doubt be opening somewhere near you soon, cannot be discussed in polite British society without us first tackling that name. Let me say it again: Eggslut. For people who are sluts about eggs. In a world where “you can’t say anything any more”, apparently, Eggslut has spread its legs: New York, Los Angeles, Seoul, Tokyo and now five sites in London, including a large new eggy pleasure palace in Stratford, where they play She’s Lost Control by Joy Division into a stark, industrial, cement-chic setting and the scrambled egg and salmon roll costs £15.
Eggslut, which since 2010 has grown from a humble food truck into a global, albumen-focused fast food conglomerate, does not care what you think about its name, though. It doesn’t care if the name gives you the ick, pushes you into a feminist rage or sounds a lot like non-edgy people trying to be edgy. Over the past decade, I have waited for a company stooge to plead for forgiveness and for the place to rebrand as Eggqueen, but no – and, to be honest, it is this type of unapologetic doubling down in restaurant land that I live for. Without such chutzpah, I’d never get to enjoy Clap, which opened recently in Knightsbridge offering “sensory Japanese dining”, rather than a large dose of antibiotics to bring down the swelling. Or, for that matter, the billion-pound luxury hotel refit OWO, which opened in Whitehall late last year, defiantly ignoring what “OWO” means to any Londoner who has seen those adverts that used to be left in public phone boxes.
