While we’ve all been tossing aside our jackets and admiring blooming trees, maple syrup producers have been cursing this freakishly early spring. Maple trees need cold nights and warm days for the sap to flow, and many in the syrup industry are saying this is the worst season ever. Read more…
Lately it seems like I’ve been seeing “barrel-aged” slapped on everything. You can buy beer aged in apple brandy barrels, cider aged in bourbon barrels, and even your very own home cocktail aging kit. As soon as I heard about maple syrup aged in bourbon barrels though, I thought, “bingo.” That’s like hearing about someone just inventing adding milk to dry cereal. Read more…
Update 2011: Cafe Pedlar Has Closed. I’ll let you in on a secret: Frankie’s Spuntino, a cozy spot for reliably delicious Italian fare, serves a pretty damn good brunch. Just a few doors down from where weekend hordes queue up outside Clinton Street Bakery, I had some of the finest french toast in town–without waiting for a table. When I heard Frankie’s was opening Cafe Pedlar next door, I dutifully marched down to Clinton Street to sit in a sunbeam and sample some pastries. Keeping up Snackish is a dirty job sometimes but someone has to do it. Read more…
If I were to describe my ideal brunch, it would sound a lot like the one I had at recently at Supper. We rolled up at around 10:30am on a Saturday and were seated immediately in a shady spot on the sidewalk patio–no wait list, no hungry mob, and given the lack of foot traffic on East 2nd Street, I could easily imagine I was in a tranquil little spot upstate. Bold, fresh-brewed coffee laced with crema arrived on gleaming white saucers, along with a plate of fresh crusty bread and spicy white beans soaked in olive oil. Most appetizers only seem to fill me up, but this one properly whetted my appetite for some of the best french toast in the city. Read more…
French toast is one if my favorite foods, but I get to indulge so rarely. On weekend mornings I’m usually too unsociable to eat out, and cooking is the last thing I want to do. If someone made a tasty take-out version, I’d probably eat it every day.
Abraco Espresso‘s version of pain perdu (or “lost bread,” since in France the traditional recipe calls for stale bread) is the french toast sandwich I’ve been missing. A slice of moist, eggy challah is folded over ricotta filling, dusted with powdered sugar, and wrapped in wax paper for no-fuss nibbling. The ricotta is like no other I’ve tasted, creamy and spiked with orange blossom, which adds just a hint of fruity, floral flavor. Read more…
Update June 2012: Belcourt has closed. Sometimes all you need is a relaxed, candlelit bistro and a giant hunk of garnished meat to get your night back on the right track. Something about Belcourt–whose full length windows overlook the bustling downtown theater action at Fourth Street and Second Avenue–feels particularly welcoming; maybe because it’s a new place trying to be like an old place and arriving somewhere comfortably in between. Or maybe because there’s never a wait to be seated. Patience is not one of my virtues. Read more…
I’ve been ogling blow-ups of Dunkin’ Donuts new waffle breakfast sandwich since they started appearing around town, even though I was certain it was bound to be a let-down. I’m not knocking Dunkin’ out of sheer snack snobbery. After-school sojourns to the drive-thru for creamy-sweet coffees are what got me hooked on caffeine back in high school. But the donuts and breakfast sandwiches always had a slightly stale taste, like dashed expectations thrown in a microwave. Read more…
Until recently, I didn’t do brunch. Actually, that’s something of an understatement. I used to start my weekend with a large black coffee, a Camel Light, and a quick jaunt to the puppy run. Now that I’ve ditched coffee and cigs I’ve been exploring new indulgences, betraying my inner Spartan by dabbling with things like french toast and morning cocktails.
Braving brunchtime hordes to find decent french toast can be arduous, so it’s rewarding when you find a place that’s gifted with their griddle. Cafe Condesa in the West Village uses what looks like french bread as opposed to the ubiquitous challah in their french toast. It’s relatively light, buttery-crisp on the outside but soft and eggy in the middle, and served with fresh berries ($7.75). Read more…
