Nick Mosley tries the vegetarian option at The Breakfast Club

I think it was near Liverpool Street station but, at the time, I was working on the London club scene so rather caught up in partying hard every night hence I could be very wrong.

I also don’t particularly recall the food in the café itself – the excitement came from the secret cocktail bar.

This was way before the term “speakeasy” entered into the British vernacular so it was very much the talk of the town.

For a short period at least, if you hadn’t been then you were a nobody. That fact you could also get a hearty fry-up at any time of the day was clearly a bonus to any professional hedonist.

Today, The Breakfast Club has outlets all over London – some with and some without proper bars – plus a couple out in the provinces, including Brighton which opened back in 2015 in Market Street near Donatello.

You can't miss The Breakfast Club in Brighton

You can’t miss it – it’s painted egg-yolk yellow – which the-morning-after-the-night-before may require that you don your Jackie Os before approaching.

I visited on a Friday afternoon and I must say the joint was pretty busy for 3pm with most tables full.

My guest – a bartending colleague of old who’s now moved on to bigger things as a spirit brand ambassador – were escorted to one of the high seat banquettes which offered a more secluded dining and gossiping experience plus the opportunity to have a bird’s eye view of the eclectic groupings of diners ranging from students via Japanese tourists through to a family that had clearly brought granny along for a day out.

It was refreshing to see – especially in Brighton – that a decent eatery literally appeals to the proverbial Every Man.

The front-of-house team was friendly and very eager to please with menus in our hands in seconds. There’s definitely no dilly-dallying around here.

As the name suggests, The Breakfast Club serves breakfast and brunch all day long. Think American short-order diner mash-up with a British greasy spoon, with optional – and mighty fine – cocktails to boot.

Whilst informal, the interior is definitely more restaurant-y than greasy spoon caff which is intriguing as the venue closes at 5pm. Presumably there’s an unspoken cut-off time for bangers and beans with the great Brighton public.

The Nashville fried chicken looks and tastes great

Tom and I opted for their monthly specials. Nashville Fried Chicken Benedict and a vegetarian Aubergine Parm Benedict.

I have to say Tom picked better than I did with his chicken dish: two English muffins with spicy buttermilk fried chicken, oozing poached eggs and a cheesy hollandaise sauce. It looked great and tasted great.

Although I’ll eat anything, I’m currently on a quest with both professional reviews and my own personal dining choices to select more vegetarian and vegan dishes.

Plant-based dining continues to come along in leaps and bounds, and I think that in many ways these dishes are more inventive and exciting in terms of texture and flavour than meat and fish dishes.

Unfortunately, the aubergine dish somewhat missed the mark on all counts, which is a shame because I can see the intention.

The muffin, egg and baked aubergine were over-powered by a sweet and cloying tomato sauce that proved challenging to eat and ruined an otherwise perfectly cooked dish.

I dunno, maybe chef was having an off-day – it certainly didn’t improve mine.

On the upside, The Breakfast Club’s regular menu has a cornucopia of time-tested dishes.

As well as fry-ups, there’s French toast, pancakes, breakfast burritos, eggs benedict and various burgers and chicken wings.

It’s hearty fare and not the kind of thing you should be eating every day but from a cursory glance at the dishes on other tables the ingredients are clearly good quality and were devoured with gusto.

Price-wise, you can get cheaper – £15 for a fry-up is on par with a local Sunday roast – but with the standard menu I don’t think you’d get better and this is what sets The Breakfast Club apart from the competition.

And, I for one, prefer scoffing my bacon butty on a velvet banquette with a good bloody mary in hand rather than a cup of stewed builder’s tea.