The Anatomy of a Perfect Fry-Up (and Why No Two People Agree)

The classic fry-up is one of the most personal meals there is. It’s comfort and chaos on a plate — a reward after a long week, sustenance after a heavy night, a hangover cure and a small act of self-care all at once. It’s the meal that forgives you for everything.

Maybe that’s why people get so emotional about it. A fry-up can spark serious debate — what belongs on the plate, what doesn’t, and what counts as a criminal offence before 10 a.m. Everyone thinks their version is the correct one, but really it comes down to where you’re from, how you were raised, and how much chaos you’re willing to tolerate before coffee.

You can tell a lot about a person by what they put on their fry-up plate. For some, it’s a sacred ritual: everything neatly arranged, toast on the side, beans contained. For others, it’s a glorious mess — fried bread soaking up the runny egg yolk while the beans stage a quiet invasion.

Components: The Non-Negotiables

First, there are the non-negotiables. You can’t really call it a fry-up without these basic items — though how they’re cooked, and how many of each, still divides people completely.

Bacon

I like my bacon crispy, bordering on cremated. I’m not a lover of pork, and definitely not a lover of fat, so for me the fat needs to be so crisp it’s almost unrecognisable. Some people argue that the more you cook bacon, the drier it gets — and yes, I’ve even had people request it soft, which feels borderline illegal. But in my experience, the most common request has always been “crispy bacon,” which restores my faith in humanity.

Two rashers feels like a standard serving. One is shocking, and three feels mathematically chaotic — like something’s gone wrong in the plating algorithm.

Substitutions

I’ve seen Spam used instead of bacon, which is not to my taste, but if it’s fried crisp and the eater’s happy, who am I to judge? (Quietly, though, I am judging.)

Vegetarian breakfasts are trickier — the stand-ins are never quite the same. I usually lean towards fried halloumi, which at least gives you salt, fat, and chew. Avocado shows up sometimes, which always feels slightly bizarre because it’s basically the polar opposite of bacon. As for vegan bacon... I’m not touching that debate with a ten-foot spatula.

Eggs

I like my eggs poached or boiled, with a jammy middle—simple, comforting, perfect for me.

When I’m cooking a fry-up for other people, I usually go for a fried egg with an extra-crispy bottom and a runny yolk—there’s nothing quite like that golden yolk spilling over a plate of breakfast goodness. Some people, though, ask for scrambled eggs, which I quite like too—they’re soft, creamy, and feel indulgent.

The tricky bit is portioning. One egg just doesn’t really work for scrambled eggs, but most breakfasts only come with a single egg. Secretly, I think most people would be happier with two eggs (my dad certainly doesn’t hide it), yet somehow tradition keeps it to one. Hard eggs? They make me cry inside.

Substitutions

Eggs are one of the few breakfast items where the “substitutions” are really just… other eggs. But if someone doesn’t want a fried egg with that perfectly crispy bottom, you’ve still got options:

• Poached egg: Very respectable. Soft, delicate, and makes you look like you know what you’re doing.

• Scrambled eggs: Only really works with two eggs (one egg scrambled is just sad), but some people genuinely prefer them. Creamy, fluffy, and a crowd-pleaser if you’re feeding a table.

• Boiled eggs: Not typical for a fry-up, but honestly? Great. Dip your toast soldiers; live your best life.

• Omelettes: Not exactly a fry-up classic, but it scratches the same itch if someone wants “eggs but tidier.”

Let’s not talk about egg whites-only. This is a fry-up, not a 6am spin class.

Sausages

There should always be two sausages. It’s an unspoken rule. One sausage is depressing, two is perfect, and anything above two is excessive—but acceptable if someone’s clearly having A Day.

Sausages should be dark. Ideally, a deep, even brown all over, but that’s a fantasy outcome only achievable if you stop time. Any chef knows the truth: you start frying them to get colour, get dragged into fifty other tasks, and return to find them with one side extra-dark (chef speak for “burnt”) and the other side looking suspiciously pale. A proper butcher’s sausage is top tier. If I had my way I’d put a spicy Italian or chorizo-style sausage on there, but apparently “this is a fry-up, not brunch” is a thing people say.

Substitutions If someone can’t have sausages, it usually turns into “extra bacon,” which feels like too much of the same energy. Four slices of bacon on a plate is like a cry for help. Some places use a sausage patty, and vegetarian sausages exist—Glamorgan sausages are the elite option because they’re basically cheese pretending to be a vegetable. But people take the sausage choice very seriously, so tread lightly.

Toast

What else is going to hold the egg?! Toast is the structural engineering of the fry-up. A fry-up is essentially a deconstructed giant greasy sandwich, and bread is the only thing preventing total chaos on the plate.

Brown or multigrain is surprisingly popular. Sourdough is the predictable “I go to cafés” choice. But in a classic greasy spoon, it’s thin square white loaf—cheap, floppy, and perfect for soaking up the yolk and every questionable decision you’ve ever made.

Substitutions A tragic modern trend is people refusing the bread altogether, usually in the name of “cutting carbs,” as if removing one slice of toast will neutralise the rest of the plate. The only real substitution for toast seems to be… no toast. And that’s just bleak.

Mushrooms

For service, a portobello mushroom is ideal—one big piece, looks fancy, low effort. The only risk is when it releases half a litre of water onto the plate and suddenly you’re serving mushroom soup. Personally, I love sautéed baby mushrooms in butter with a good pinch of salt. Pure comfort. But some people cannot cope with the texture of mushrooms or the idea of a vegetable touching their breakfast, so they request “no mushrooms” with the seriousness of someone negotiating a hostage situation.

Substitutions Technically any vegetable could stand in, but realistically? You just leave it off and carry on with your day.

Tomatoes

On a greasy spoon breakfast you might encounter — and please brace yourself — tinned tomatoes. Let’s be honest: that’s not acceptable. They sit there weeping across the plate like a sad little red flood.

The on-the-vine cherry tomato looks great on a menu photo, but in reality it’s all admin and zero flavour payoff. You have to remove the vine, they barely cook, and they bring nothing except warm, slightly collapsed vibes.

A large tomato, cut in half and grilled with salt, pepper, and a little olive oil? That’s the sweet spot. Properly cooked, juicy, and actually doing something on the plate.

Substitutions We will not speak of tinned tomatoes again. Some people count ketchup as a substitute, which is morally questionable at breakfast time. Salsa could work if you’re feeling rebellious, but realistically, there’s no real replacement for a proper grilled tomato.

Debatables & Regional Variations

Beans

Beans are a take-it-or-leave-it ingredient for a lot of people. Personally, I love them — especially homemade beans, slow-cooked, rich, and a little tangy. They feel like comfort on a plate and bring a warmth that no amount of crispy bacon or runny yolk can replace.

Breakfast in Canada really opened my eyes to how good beans can be, and it inspired me to make my own. I’d happily serve them alongside a fry-up any day.

That said, in the UK, people aren’t particularly religious about beans. Most are perfectly happy with a tin of Heinz, and plenty skip them altogether. Either way works — they’re the wildcard of the fry-up plate.

Black Pudding

Some people insist a fry-up isn’t complete without black pudding. Personally, I think that’s more of a regional rulebook. In Scotland you might get haggis and black pudding, and white pudding also makes an appearance. Ireland has its own versions too.

Black pudding does turn up on many English and Welsh breakfasts, but it’s definitely not universal. I’d call it a prestige item — not compulsory, but when it's there, it makes the plate feel like it’s showing off a little.

Potatoes

For me, potatoes are non-negotiable. I used to love the classic triangular hash browns from the freezer — deep-fried until they were perfectly crispy and golden. Now I lean toward home fries: cubed potatoes pan-fried in butter with a touch of Cajun spice. They’re cosy, savoury, and everything a breakfast potato should be.

Scotland has the tattie scone; Ireland has the potato farl (yes — a farl is potato-based). But weirdly, potatoes still haven’t fully claimed their rightful place across the UK breakfast scene. Some people think the hash brown feels “too American,” but honestly? American breakfast potatoes are superior and I will die on that hill.

Other Bready Variations

Fried bread is absolutely delicious and absolutely horrifying — a slice of pure oil, disguised as breakfast. It’s a greasy spoon classic and one of life’s guilty joys.

Soda bread from Ireland is gorgeous. Oatcakes and farls are excellent. The world of breakfast carbs is vast and deeply comforting.

Laverbread cakes, though… look, they’re iconic and very Welsh, but most people don’t actually like them. They’re more of a heritage gimmick, often eaten out of patriotism rather than pleasure. Cockles make more sense on a plate — laverbread cakes feel like someone wanted to prove something, but no one’s entirely sure what.

So after all that, you may be feeling more confused than ever. What actually makes a true fry-up?

Well, here’s the nice simple answer: you do.

If you love it, and it belongs on your plate, then it’s a proper fry-up in your world. Build it how you want, eat it how you want, and defend it proudly.

(…apart from tinned tomatoes. Absolutely not. There are limits.)