The Dusty Knuckle - Dalston
At a glance: This one’s for the breakfast sandwich connoisseur, the cultist, admirers of honest hard work and a product worthy of its following.
Visit for: Focaccia breakfast sarnies, potato sourdough loaves and morning buns.
Ordered: 2x morning buns, 1 x sticky bun, 1 x egg chilli cheese focaccia, flat white with oat (£21.40)
Location: Located in the heart of Dalston Junction, a 5-minute walk from Dalston Kingston overground station.
The Dusty Knuckle is a solid spot for brunch with your mates as you’re pretty much always guaranteed to find a table/perch with seemingly endless outdoor seating. This is one of those “eat a slice of toast” before leaving home kind of deals. Because of its cult status, you’re guaranteed to join the end of a queue over the weekends. Please don’t let that put you off. You’re 20 minutes away from eating one of the greatest breakfast sandwiches of your life.
Nominate the most patient member of your party to join the back of the queue. Text them your order and nab a seat. Your in-line entertainment comes in the form of Dalston’s cool uncle in dungarees, barrelling out of the front doors, yelling “Ben W!”. Ben W will sheepishly raise his hand and shuffle over, all eyes on him as he collects his paper-bagged order. He’s in. You’re next.
We’re all here in earnest to appreciate a true labour of love. Expect the occasional panicked scout being sent in to take stock of the counter. “They only have the large loaves left!”. It’s 11:30 on a relatively grey and grim Saturday morning. By the time I’ve reached the front of the queue, it’s doubled behind me. As you make it through the front doors, euphoric, you’re folded into the mix of non-stop coffee grinding, upbeat thunderous conversation and an industrial garage come bakery with charm, clearly the love child of Good People.
A note on the coffee. Given the amount of Kiwi and Aussie accents twanging around the joint, you know you’re in for something half-decent. The baristas are friendly and down for a laugh despite all three of them hauling ass to keep up with Saturday’s orders. A solid flat white with oat.
Having ordered and waited my turn, it was go time. After positioning myself at one of the standing tables wrapped around the outdoor deck, the first bite of the egg, chilli and cheese focaccia elicits the silent, slow head nod of appreciation generally reserved for your mother’s cooking or a dirty drunk toastie. It’s the perfect marriage of the acidity of the pickled green chillies, the brightness of mellow spring onion, the floral tang of coriander to the textural splendour of a soft gooey runny egg. The hit of spice, the caramelised cheese. I could write a soliloquy a day for this sandwich. 10/10. Messy. Delicious.
After devouring this sandwich to the horror of sauve onlookers, namely the young couple seated directly in front of my perch, I leave, inspired and satisfied. Yolk in hair. The perfect start to a Saturday. A front runner for the best breakfast sandwich in the city.
