Cold pews, tired plates, and breakfast on a budget of ambition
There is a particular kind of Bath café that trades quietly on the assumption that, once upon a time, it was good. Kingsmead Kitchen falls squarely into this category: a place that looks like it remembers the glory days fondly, but has since misplaced both the cushions and the will to try.
We visited on 3 February 2026, stepping inside to be greeted not by warmth—literal or metaphorical—but by cold, hard pews that suggest the seating was sourced from a deconsecrated chapel with no upholstery budget. No cushions, no softness, no cosy vibe. You don’t so much sit down as take communion with discomfort. The room itself felt chilly, as though the heating had been switched off in solidarity with austerity.
The menus, meanwhile, looked like archaeological finds: well-thumbed, weary, and possibly carbon-dated. Still, service was pleasant and attentive, which counts for something. Coffee, at least, offered reassurance. A flat white, ordered extra hot, arrived exactly as requested—properly hot, well made, and the highlight of the visit. Credit where it’s due.
Then came the food.
The vegetarian breakfast was dispiritingly small. One piece of toast. One egg. One poorly cooked vegetarian sausage, which had all the enthusiasm of a substitute teacher on a Friday afternoon. The mushrooms were actually quite tasty, the beans did their dependable thing, but the whole plate felt like a children’s portion accidentally served to an adult. Cheap ingredients, modest ambition, and no sense that breakfast might be something to enjoy rather than endure.
The shakshuka fared little better. Perfectly average, leaning heavily on pepper to compensate for a noticeable lack of depth. No fresh herbs, no lift, no sense of care. It arrived with a tiny piece of sourdough toast, which felt less like accompaniment and more like a gesture made under protest.
Cleanliness hovered firmly in the “could do better” column. Our table would have benefited from a thorough scrub, and it was telling that other customers seemed to instinctively avoid it. The café wasn’t busy, which only amplified the sense that this was a place coasting on past reputation rather than present performance.
The bill came to £33.30 for a vegetarian breakfast, shakshuka, black coffee and flat white. That’s an entirely average price for what turned out to be a below-average meal in a tired room. In the good old days, Kingsmead Kitchen might have had style or substance. Today, alas, it has neither—just cold seats, small plates, and a faint sense of melancholy.
Rating: 2 out of 5 stars.
One star for decent coffee and polite service. One for mushrooms that tried their best. The rest is lost somewhere between the pews and the past.
