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Without fail, I always get angry stares and a collective sigh from the staff whenever I walk into Pantry for breakfast. And rightly so as I usually roll in wearing last night’s slutwear, dripping of makeup, and unintended bed hair. They must think I’m a lady of the night. I will, however, brush my teeth most mornings. I’ve considered going elsewhere but this is the closest distance to a cheesy egg sandwich from my boyfriend’s front door.

My morning tea always comes with a little slip of paper printed with a passage from the Bible on it. Today’s mantra read: “It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.” It is always delivered with caution, which makes me think there was once an incident. The husband and wife team are strict church-goers, and I’m sure they never thought they needed a cross to reign over them, that is until this infidel arrived in the hood. Thank goodness they have an open kitchen or else I’d think they’d spit in my food.

The only reason to come is for the bagel sandwich. My favourite is their toasted bagel with avocado and mystery cheese. Instead of a smile I get a grunt with my service, and instead of a bottomless mug, I get a take-away cup. It must be the pleasure/pain paradox I love so much about this place.

I slept in one morning, convinced my head was going to crack open from last night’s wine. Wanting nothing more then my teddy bear and a cheesy-eggy sandwich from Pantry, I mustered enough energy to lift a finger and dial. Nine minutes later, the husband arrived with a grease-soaked paper bag. I saw his smile turn into a frown as soon as I opened the door. “Oh, it’s you,” he said, making no attempt to hide his discontent.

“Yes, thank you. $38 right?” I said, cash in hand.

“You live HERE?”

“Yeah,” I lied fearing I would get a speech about living with men out of wedlock.

“Sinner,” I heard him say in his eyes.

Dick, the boyfriend, cannot understand the appeal of Pantry, but he didn’t understand the need for a bacon cheese sarnie until one weekend we woke with a collective hangover. And the only cure was grease. We made for the corner shop only to find they were closed on Sundays. Of course. Why would they be open on God’s day?

Pantry, G/F, 38 Wing Fung St, Wan Chai, 2511 1282