THE HUNGOVER BREAKFAST CLUB

The Hungover Cookbook was inspired by hangovers, of course, but also by being hungover with friends who had crashed out at my house after a hard night’s revelry. In the morning we’d wake up and resume talking and, of course, have some food together. It felt like some form of disjointed continuation from the previous evening. We filled in gaps. We laughed again about the same things we had laughed about while drunk. There was a warm glow, albeit punctuated – it is true – by bouts of nausea and vacancy, of shared good times fondly remembered. I realised that the hungover me was often more lucid, spontaneous and creative than the regular me, or even the drunken me. I enjoyed cooking and experimenting with food for the pleasure of my friends. I was enjoying myself. I liked hangovers.

So when the idea of the cookbook started to take shape, these impromptu hungover breakfasts with friends turned into informal breakfast clubs. I tried out some curious recipes. Some worked; some did not. But all kinds of ideas carried on coming to me in my hungover state; indeed many of them are books still in the making.

For the launch of The Hungover Cookbook, then, it seemed that the best thing to do would be to host the mother of all hungover breakfast clubs, in majestic homage to the humble origins of the book. I worked closely with pop-up dining experts 99 Delights to produce a five-course tasting menu inspired by recipes from the cookbook.

We assembled thirty red-eyed, wild-haired, nauseous and dry-mouthed hungover guests on the morning of Saturday, October 2. Our mission was to make them feel better; or, if we could not do that, then at least to make their suffering more interesting for them. Head-waiter Whetham Allpress and his glamorous waitresses donned their dressing gowns in the elegant dining room of 99, complete with gramophone and vintage tea set.

We started with a melon, feta, ham and mint salad to refresh palates and settle stomachs (mint is a great aid to digestion).

Boiled duck eggs with potato farl soldiers followed.

Then a trio of toasts: the Elvis Presley sandwich, stilton and pear toast, and French toast with banana compote.

The fourth course was an English breakfast tortilla, which left some guests protesting they could eat no more.

For those who were still hungry, though, they enjoyed what was arguably the highlight of the morning: the spectacular knickerbocker glory, topped with zingy crushed refresher sweets and a lit sparkler.

It was an epic, restorative meal, and thirty guests walked out into the fresh air of Hackney with bright eyes and a spring in their step.

I cannot promise the same effect on everyone who buys the book (we each have to take responsibility for our own hangovers, after all) but I do recommend that you try. And a final piece of advice: a hangover shared is a hangover halved – spending time and eating with friends is the first step to your hungover salvation. Friends that eat together, stay together.

By Milton Crawford