For breakfast on our last full day we opted for a small restaurant across the street from our hotel located in the turreted brick building I had become so fond of gazing at from our room. The proprietor, a delightful Iranian gentleman who had emigrated to Denmark 30 years before, rose from one of the sidewalk tables to take our order. As we settled ourselves in the sunshine of the still cool morning air he went to a table and roused a heavily tattooed young man who had been huddling under the blankets that are ubiquitous in the outdoor restaurants in the city,.
The young man went inside. Shortly he emerged and sprinted across the street to the small shop on the corner which had proved itself a godsend on several occasions during our stay. Moments later he came up the small flight of stairs that led to the sidewalk from the small shop, which, incidentally, boasted that it always had 200 bottles of wine on hand. (we never bothered to count but took them at their word), carrying a 6 pack carton of eggs. Apparently our order had exhausted the restaurant's egg supply. The breakfast was so good that we returned to it on our last morning in Copenhagen. I guess the egg order had arrived overnight as there was no egg sprint witnessed that final day.