I’ve traveled back and forth to Africa all my life countless times, and probably most of those are through London. Why London?

An English Breakfast.
Fastest Way.

Some may have trouble accepting these simple and obvious truths, so let me elaborate.

Ever since King Henry VIII gluttonized spitted pigs, the British got a bad rap on cuisine. It’s not deserved. Anyone who has enjoyed the luxury of “High Tea” with clotted cream and strawberry jam on scones nearly as delicious as post dinner shortbread knows that the British palate demands the highest quality. Not to mention shepherd’s pie, one of my favorites, or beef wellington which certainly didn’t arise along the Seine.

But of all the delectables on that little island none achieves such a global fanfare as the “English Breakfast.” What can be so hard about throwing a couple eggs next to a sausage?

First of all, mine are always poached, a significant distinction from Denny’s. The sausages are just as grotesquely created as sausages anywhere in the world, but the British sausage skin is tighter, allowing for the fat to double cook itself and everything else that needs to be killed inside. The rashers or slices of ham are the clear upgrades from King Henry’s engorged pig fat, and the Portobelo mushroom puts our hypocritically labeled Green Giant finger mushrooms to shame.

The little round of beans is a protein booster and sweet addition to this savory meal. Fully buttered toast perfectly distributes salt throughout the feast so that you don’t have to empty the salt shaker and destroy the pepper mill in a fit of high blood pressure. And so important… The tea is hot.

A good English Breakfast can tied you over for most of the day, and that’s exactly what I do. Before my day time flight to Africa, I carve out a relaxing hour at least to sit down, anticipate, savor, smell and finally enjoy this exceptional morning feast. Then, after such remarkable sensory satisfaction, it becomes absolutely impossible to tolerate an airline meal. On these long flights it’s really better you don’t eat, anyway.

The other reason is perfectly illustrated in the photo above. The world is round, and North America, and especially cities like Chicago are almost in a perfect straight line to Nairobi that intersects Britain. London is, in other words, exactly in the fastest lane.

So I get here faster and I’m totally fortified. And so it was, once again, for the umpteenth time in my life, a surprise pleasure few safaris expect.