Kanela Breakfast Club, Chicago IL

When going for brunch in Chicago N. Clark St. is generally a good call – M. Henry, Over Easy, Orange, Ann Sather, Big Jones…let’s just say Lakeview and Andersonville aren’t hurting for their eggs, pancakes, and bacon – but having already been to the big names and wanting an eclectic weekday breakfast experience this visit to Chicago would bring us to a relative newcomer – the Greek offerings of Kanela Breakfast Club. Owned and operated by Chris Lardakis and featuring both name and theme inspired by his upbringing and a love of cinnamon I’ll admit I’d heard mixed reviews of both the food and service at Kanela, but in the end the menu and coffee sourcing won me over and with the early opening hour of 7:00am both the location and time matched our day’s agenda perfectly.

Arriving early with street parking plenty available we made our way to the surprisingly large café after a drive past Wrigley and given the early hour the space was empty save for two tables – one with patrons and one with Lardakis himself sitting and chatting with staff as they prepared for the day’s service. Greeted pleasantly by our server, Tara S. at the door we were asked where we’d like to sit and with a four top in the middle of the room selected we sat – two of us in sturdy wood chairs and one in the booth. With the restaurant largely modern (think exposed brick, wood, tile) yet restrained save for a couple of crystal chandeliers and a small coffee bar to the right we were next presented with menus, offered coffee, and left to make decisions while light pop music played overhead.

With a strong cup from Julius Meinl with caramel notes and a satin finish brewed quickly (and refilled consistently without need for request throughout our meal) Tara would return to take our orders and to give us her opinions on what dishes she considers must haves. Inquiring as to whether two appetizers and three entrees would be too much she informed us that it would “probably be fine” as the chef focuses more on quality than quantity – but that this would be “quite a bit of food.” With orders placed we again sat back and chatted while Lardakis returned to the kitchen and Tara took to writing the daily specials on the chalkboard.

With the restaurant largely empty it would be perhaps ten minutes before our first dishes would arrive – in this case a favorite of both my aunt and myself in the form of “monkey bread” that really wasn’t much like pull-apart monkey bread at all, but rather a dense muffin loaded with smooth pureed banana, notes of cinnamon and walnuts, and a nearly soufflé-like top with a slightly gooey crumb. Served warm it was excellent, but at $4 perhaps a bit overpriced for a muffin.

Moving next to the dish recommended strongly by our server, my mother’s favorite item of the meal was the Bougatsa. At $4 and essentially the same size/weight as the monkey bread this flat pastry featured dainty crisp phyllo encompassing what was described as “lemon-honey custard” but what instead tasted almost like meyer lemon curd given its density and subdued sweetness. Complimented with fresh strawberries and a wisp of whipped cream it truly was tasty, though getting more than a bite proved somewhat daunting as mom seemed to be guarding it with fork and knife.

With appetites primed and plates cleared as coffee was refilled once again it would be a short while before our main courses would arrive and with the ladies selecting sweets I opted instead to go savory for the second morning in a row by selecting the duck confit hash with sunny side eggs, charred scallions, and a sauce described as orange truffle vinaigrette. Served not really as “duck confit hash” but rather as duck confit + hash, the fowl itself was excellent and paired nicely with the acidic yet earthy sauce while the potatoes were buttery, loaded with herbs, and slightly smoky from the inclusion of the crispy scallions. Completing the plate with two nicely prepared eggs topped with just a drizzle of olive oil all the flavors married nicely while a side of 9-grain toast with butter and strawberry jam proved quite handy for sopping up the runny egg and vinaigrette.

Having already established my mother’s love for lemon her selection of the Kanela French Toast with apricot and sweet lemon crème fraiche came as no surprise and while I’m traditionally not a fan of citrus I personally thought this the best dish of the morning largely because the golden brioche with a pillowy custard center was so exquisitely done that it may rank amongst the best textured French Toasts of all time. While certainly never one to shy away from a breakfast too sweet, an additional surprise in the Kanela French Toast was the light accents of the accoutrements – the crème only mildly kissed with lemon and the apricot compote a smear on the plate. Surely the addition of pure maple syrup didn’t hurt, but it also wasn’t necessary to make this dish shine.

For my aunt’s selection she surprisingly selected what has seemingly become Kanela’s most highly acclaimed dish – the Bacon Waffle with Chocolate Bacon, Bourbon Caramel, and Bacon Dust – and like the French Toast it was quite impressive albeit a little bit heavy handed. Beginning first with the bacon riddled waffle, it was a nice balance of sweet and savory with the bacon largely serving as exclamation points of flavor in the golden dough. Topped with grated bacon and two strips of slightly chewy pork dipped in chocolate and resting above drizzles of salty caramel and bitter chocolate I actually think the dish may have been better off without the bacon dust if only to mellow the salinity – but then again, the chocolate did a nice job of creating a balance so perhaps simply drizzling a bit of chocolate on the waffle itself would have helped instead as the drizzle on the plate simply wasn’t enough to account for the whole waffle.

With dishes cleaned and coffee again refilled Tara asked if there was anything else we’d like and declining we were given the check followed by a quick visit from the chef to ask us how everything had been. With our compliments (and the bill) paid we made our way to the sunny streets just about one hour after our arrival and with that proceeded to our noon tour of the Rookery not full, but content and glad to see that North Clark Street’s embarrassment of Brunch riches has grown by one.

Next "Paris 1906" and The Aviary, Chicago IL

To call the hype surrounding Chef Grant Achatz’s “NEXT” substantial would be the understatement of the year…or perhaps of last year since first the restaurant was named the “most anticipated restaurant in America” for 2010 and didn’t even start selling tickets (yes, tickets) until March of 2011. Beginning with the rumors, then the website, then there was the mailing list, and finally the trainwreck involving online ticket sales and scalpers charging $1000+/seat on craigslist I will fully admit that I’d been watching the developments from the start and like anyone else interested in the world of fine dining I was not only intrigued, but lucky enough to sign up early and avoid the hysteria purchasing a two-top for 6/16/11 with minimal difficulty on the first day of sales.

To those who have read nothing about NEXT there is a pretty good chance they wouldn’t be reading some random guy from Ohio’s blog about gastronomy and as such I’ll spare the details – especially considering how much has already been written about the experience in nearly every foodblog east of the Mississippi. Located in the Fulton Market and largely unadorned save for a valet parking sign and a small sign in the window reading “Next Paris 1906” my friend Dave and I arrived on time and dressed in jackets and ties made our way into the small entryway where we were greeted by a pair of young ladies who collected or tickets and ushered us quickly to our table and with beverage choices pre-decided an equally quick greeting from our captain and a description of the menu’s theme would see still water poured and things get underway “toute de suite.”

With the room long and narrow and the gleaming kitchen emitting a piercing white light both Dave and I noted that despite the theme the restaurant itself as well as the dress of the servers was rather plain – largely dissociated from the era and clearly capable of being reinvented regularly to fit the seasonal theme. With small spotlights overhead and era appropriate linens and service ware on the tables the feeling of NEXT was intimate without feeling contrived and as light era-appropriate French music played overhead the restaurant was energetic without being loud – a nice balance that harkened an era without feeling contrived.

With the stage set and seeing a number of tables around us at various points in their meal already it was with a bit of surprise that our first course consisted of the Hors d’Oeuvres tray and not the gougeres or individual service of foie gras I saw many others receiving and even more a surprise when our tray contained only four items plus the foie as opposed to the six the four-top next to us had just received (including what I believe was rabbit boudin and salmon mousse.) A bit perplexed but expecting perhaps a second service we dug right in to the ornate arrangement beginning first with “les ouefs Benedictine” - a cod cream custard with truffles, followed by leek wrapped mushroom duxelles, sesame crackers with pork rillette and pickled onions, a liquid centered quail topped with pickled anchovies/lemon zest/tarragon, plus brioche stuffed with foie gras torchon and topped with apricots and pickled mustard seeds with ground black pepper. With each bite delicious and balanced I will note that the foie gras was particularly lovely and amongst the best tochons I’ve had while both egg dishes were entirely unique and full of nuance.

With a second service never arriving we chalked it up to bad luck or a poorly timed seating and within minutes were treated to our first proper course of the menu, “Potage a la Tortue Claire.” With turtle soup a true classic dating back to the early 1900s and rarely featured on menus (Particularly in the United States) these days our bowl arrived with only mirepox present at first but was then shortly followed by a young gentlemen who poured the “snapping turtle consommé” tableside. With the broth clean and clear with breaths of alcohol slightly overwhelming the deeper meaty flavors it was good, but rather simple for me and while not as interesting as my previous experience with turtle soup at Commander’s Palace in New Orleans, certainly more subtle and befitting a tasting menu.

For our second course of the meal we would receive the night’s sole bread course – a small (literally only 1.5x the size of a golf ball) roll with crunchy crust and delicate crumb plus a creamy salted butter speckled with fleur de sel. We were informed this roll would be ideal for soaking up the juices of our next course, but given its size this seemed rather unlikely and I instead used it and the subsequently requested (requested, not offered) rolls as a delivery mechanism for the butter.

For our second proper course, “Filet de Sole Daumont” would arrive perhaps 5 minutes after we’d finished the soup and realizing the speed with which we were being moved we opted to slow our pace a bit and talk at length between bites. Served with classic stylings on a bed of silky Sauce Nantua thick with cream, béchamel, and crayfish butter the plate itself would feature for distinct entities, each unique and each quite tasty and mostly well prepared. Beginning first with the center – a poached paupiette of sole that was light and flavorful but a bit dry the other flavors on the plate were more successful and included crayfish head and thorax stuffed with crayfish mousseline, a fried button mushroom stuffed with and crayfish tail meat, and a creamy fried morsel of sole roe. Complex and decadent this was precisely the sort of dish I expected when visiting Next and Dave felt it was the standout of the night by a considerable margin.

For the third course, Dave’s least favorite and rather blasé both in taste and presentation from my standpoint as well, Supremes de Poussin was another classic looking dish but this time gussied up with modern technique. Served as two separate components, each involving chicken, the center of the plate was dominated by a diamond shaped slice of compressed chicken breast cooked sous vide and poached in butter topped with a creamy sauce of cream and what I believe was either chicken liver or foie gras – it was flavorful and texturally exquisite but certainly no better than any number of other (more substantial) chicken preparations I’ve tasted stateside and certainly not on par with those in Paris. Moving on to the other half of the dish – a portion Dave took one bite of before setting down his silverware and suggesting “if you like it, it’s yours” – we were served poached cucumber rounds stuffed with a chicken mousse and wrapped with pork belly. Soft and silky with a bit of brine and a touch of sweet I’ll note that while I ate mine I didn’t like it enough to warrant taking Dave’s and despite the fact that the food remained when our waiter returned the plate was simply collected and returned to the kitchen robotically without comment.

With the earlier seated two top to our left having enjoyed a supplemental dish described as “lamb three ways” it was with a bit of disheartenment that our next course would be preceded with the delivery of service items indicating it was time for the shared main course entitled “Canetone Rouennais a la Presse” with “Gratin de Pommes de Terre a la Dauphinoise.” At this point approximately 50 minutes into the meal and wondering why, precisely, every table around us seemed to be receiving “extras” while we were being rushed through our evening the duck and potatoes would arrive to at least temporarily assuage the sting as both were not only good but downright fantastic.

Beginning first with the duck – sourced from Rouen and brined whole for “seven to ten hours depending on size” prior to roasting and subsequent carving with the breasts finished in the pan while the extremities were confited – it was absolutely flawless. Crispy skin, rosy flesh, full bodied taste without a bit of gaminess and a great contrast between the supple lean breasts and crisp fatty legs…really flawless and only made better by a briny mineral tinged sauce produced by pressing the duck’s carcass rendering its natural juices with cognac and red wine. Not to be outdone in the decadence department the side dish of mandolined “twice cooked” Yukon Gold potatoes layered with cream, herbs, and aged cheese finished in the oven were by far the best ‘au gratin’ potatoes I’ve ever tasted and with Dave sporting a rather slight appetite I had more than my fair share.

For our palate cleanser, at this point convinced there was no way we’d receive the bonus Sauternes Sorbet that I’d seen served to the gougeres table, Salade Irma would arrive featuring an edible nasturtium flower and its leaves, asparagus, radish, and frisee plus a light vinaigrette that although beautiful and elegant simply did nothing to add or subtract from the experience save for evoke a “well, that was pretty” from me and a “so, you can eat the flower – right?” from Dave.

With palates theoretically cleansed dessert would arrive precisely 75 minutes after we were seated and entitled “Bombe Ceylan” it would be perhaps my favorite dish of the night save for the duck. With a base of dark cocoa shortbread topped with a chilly creamed center of coffee semi-freddo and topped with a dome of rum ice cream sprayed with dark cocoa and surrounded by crème anglaise and rum soaked cherries. With four layers of texture and the flavors all blending flawlessly to create what was essentially an edible cocktail I only wish there had been more – or that I’d have had the group for the kitchen table so I could have tried the soufflé as well.

With the time now bordering on 90 minutes since our seating the Bombe plates were collected and within thirty seconds a tray of mignardises appeared with golden copies of the menu. Again shorting us our tray contained only three options (at least four were provided from what I could see a couple tables down as the tables adjacent to us were still enjoying their duck) – a beet gelee, salted caramels, and a unique pistachio butter cake with a texture something like a dry marshmallow – and with the tray collected we were thanked for coming and more-or-less led to the door where the friendly hostesses bid us a good evening.

As Dave and I bid one another farewell he noted “wow, that was good – but fast” and concurring I suggested he could come over to Aviary with my family and I for a drink but he declined due to an hour long drive home. With promises to get together again soon I made my way next door admittedly feeling a little bummed about both the brevity and overall price to experience ratio at Next; I specifically wondered to myself whether the restaurant would garner the hype it does based on the food alone and deciding this unlikely I was left with the nagging thought that while I’d gotten what I paid for, others around us had gotten more for the same dollar and while I can’t say for sure why that was (perhaps they were ALL friends of the house?) those tables also hadn’t been rushed through their service as we had. With good and sometimes great food, average but scripted service, and an idea that far outstrips the actual experience I admit I’m still intrigued to return to NEXT, but only to the Kitchen Table where I can rest assured that the experience – food, duration, location – at least stands its very best chance of living up to the hype created mostly thus far by a ticket system.

With my mood already a bit off the “greeting” at The Aviary was not exactly uplifting when I was stopped by a large bouncer-esque fellow dressed in Mad-Men Era costume communicating via Bluetooth to make sure my mother and aunt were inside before allowing me to enter (despite the space being less than 1/3 full.) When I was finally “okayed” I was told “have a nice time” and on making my way into the dark, chic, and genuinely sexy room with lavish drapes and comfortable couches abound swanky I was welcomed by a young lady who would lead me past the open “cocktail kitchen” to a space in the middle of the room where my family was seated enjoying bites and a couple of drinks. Greeted with a “wow, that was fast” regarding the duration of my meal at NEXT I told them a bit of the story but to avoid spoiling the mood decided to save my thoughts for later as a menu was presented.

With low-volume electronica playing overhead and the menu in hand it was explained to me that the list was arranged something like Alinea, but in this case from sweet to dry with the birds to the left ranging further from the text for more complicated tastes. With a taste of my mother’s Hemingway featuring Grapefruit, Lime, Maraschino, and Rum – a relatively straight forward option – and my Aunt’s Pineapple with Mint, Sanbitter, Chartreuse, and Pineapple juice that arrived in an ornate slowly melting form becoming sweeter with time I opted to embrace my inner “Dude” and selected the White Russian with Milk, Ristretto, and Rum – another slowly melting cocktail with high quality rum blended with a half shot of Intelligentsia Espresso and foamed milk alongside sweetened “milk ice” forming an angular slant in the glass.

With drinks to be enjoyed slowly due to both their price and their potency I additionally opted for three “bites” to go with my drink, but prior to receiving either drink or bite I was served a “cocktail amuse” described as a “Spicy Watermelon bite” with melon compressed in soju liquor and topped with soy pudding, sesame seeds, and micro cilantro – a tasty and refreshing burst of flavor that most certainly would not have been out of place at Alinea.

Moving on to the bites – pricey at $4-6 each – I opted for a trio beginning with “Chowder – Croquette, Clam, Spicy Corn Pudding,” then “Foie Gras – Rhubarb, Pumpernickel, Lavender,” and finally “Brioche – Chocolate, Smoked Salt, Vanilla,” all three excellent with the first tasting like a liquid hush puppy in a golden shell, the second a bitter/sweet amalgam with the sapor of foie gras giving way to notes of lavender, and the third a chocolate square topped with smoky salinity and filled with what I can only describe as liquid French Toast – all wonderful, as expected from my previous two visits to the North Halsted flagship.

With drinks consumed we debated whether to order a second round but having not yet even checked into our hotel and debating yet another dessert stop to finish the night we decided the better part of valor was to call it quits at a total of three drinks and nine bites – and a total bill of $106 – more than I’d ever anticipated spending at a bar anywhere, especially with my family, yet oddly a “value” that felt better than that at NEXT an hour prior if only for the novelty of it. If my tolerance were higher I would definitely consider going back for the kitchen table menu, but even as it stands I’ve no doubt I’ll be back to sample future creations on subsequent visits to Chicago – whether I return to NEXT or not.

Spacca Napoli, Chicago IL

…having admittedly never traveled to Naples but a seeker of great Pizzas both in Chicago and in a number of cities around the United States, many of which have been named to any number of “Best Pizza in the America” lists, it was with great interest that lunch would lead us to Spacca Napoli – the only Vera Pizza Napoletana certified restaurant in a city overflowing with great pizza. Owned and operated by Pizzaiuolo Jon Goldsmith and his family and reportedly designed to not only recreate the pizza of Southern Italy, but also their traditions and hospitality Spacca had long been on my list and with mother and aunt in tow after a long afternoon in Oak Park it seemed like the perfect opportunity.

Having heard from others that since the expansion Spacca Napoli was vastly more accessible than it once was but waits could still be long due to the single oven our arrival at 2:00pm proved to be quite opportune as free parking proved abundant in the Ravenswood area and lunch service was just winding down as we arrived. With the air a bit warm and the patio umbrellas shading a few leftover patrons we made our way into the restaurant to the lovely smells of yeast and tomatoes and greeted by our hostess/server/busser Rachelle we were led to a small four-top in the middle of the surprisingly empty dining room.

With menus presented and a wine list deferred Rachelle next proceeded to explain the daily specials and after a few quick questions waters were filled and we were left to our decisions eventually settling for two pizzas and two Italian sodas – one Aronciata and one Limonata, both bubbly and subtle without being overly sweet.

With the oven belonging only to us it would be a mere ten minutes before our pizzas would arrive and sticking to the “less is more” approach both were lightly dressed and invariable delcious. Beginning first with the “Funghi” featuring Fior di Latte Mozzarella, Basil, and Mushrooms the cheese was as mild as one would expect from fresh cow’s milk mozzarella while the sauce was lightly sweeted with just touch of acid and spice that complimented the mushroom’s earthy finish nicely. While the toppings were good, however, where this pie really shined was in the crust – a light and supple yet slightly crisp and toasty ring of smoky flavor that remained slightly undercooked in the middle; about as authentic as it gets.

Moving next to our second pizza, this one slightly more irregularly shaped with great pockets of air in the yeasty dough, the Bufalina – with Basil, Mozzarella di Bufala, and Olive Oil would prove even better than the Funghi for one simple reason – that ever so subtle funk from the intensely creamy cheese and the manner in which it so nicely blended with a thin pour of grassy olive oil. As I noted above, I can’t claim I’ve ever been to Italy, but if the Pizza there is better than this I need to start planning my trip.

With pizzas mostly consumed and the rest packed up to go Rachelle would next appear with dessert menus and although tempting I had plans to visit Black Dog Gelato next and deferred while the ladies opted to try two selections, the first a rather flavorless but appropriately silky Panna Cotta served with a substantially more tasty pear-balsamic compote and the second a creamy block of house made spumoni complete with pistachio, rum, strawberry and chocolate ice creams plus a whipped cream and candied fruit center that although tasty in parts did not work for me in its entirety due to the subpar chocolate ice cream and overpowering notes of rum.

In and out in under an hour I will note that while it may be unfair to judge our service considering the one-to-one server-to-table ratio I found Rachelle to be both friendly and knowledgeable as she manned everything but the pizza oven and although the space admittedly feels a lot more commercial/casual than New York or Philadelphia’s most well regarded pizzerias the pies themselves were absolutely genuine and delicious. As for the desserts – well – most of the “Best Pizza in America” locations don’t even serve sweets…and besides, the folks who ordered them actually enjoyed their choices.

Longman & Eagle, Chicago IL

With our early time of arrival noted and my love of Chicago’s Breakfast/Brunch scene well established the first breakfast (following appetizers from Doughnut Vault) of the trip would be of the Michelin Starred Variety – the daily brunch Service at Logan Square hipster staple Longman & Eagle. Helmed by Chef Jared Wentworth and described with nearly every ubiquitous foodie buzzword from “Gastro-Pub” to “farm to table” to “nose to tail” yet continually garnering great reviews from all who’d been there I have to admit that going in I was a skeptic, but at the same time the menu looked great and by going early on a weekday I figured we could avoid the scene – a scene we almost avoided twice because despite the use of a googlemaps we still drove right past the scantily marked restaurant twice before noting the simple “&” over the door and finding a parking space just outside.

With the weather mild and the doors open as tunes from Robert Johnston and Charlie Parker flowed into the streets we made our into the restaurant to find it largely empty – only two tables filled in the whole space – and wondering if they were even open for business yet we were greeted warmly first by the bartender and then by our waitress, a young lady named Gina who suggested we sit wherever we like. With the scent of pork heavy in the air and the bartender mixing up a whisky sour for one of the ladies at the table nearest the back door we opted for a nicely lit spot closer to the front and navigating heavily wooded and unfinished brick room there was unquestionably a slightly artificial feel to the space, but at the same time it wasn’t so much as to make it feel forced.

Seated now with menus in hand and water filled adult beverages were offered and declined with myself and my mother opting for coffee (Metropolis) that unfortunately reached empty far too many times for a restaurant so unpopulated while my aunt opted for Orange Juice – at $3 actually a bargain compared to other breakfasts in Chicago. With the menu rather short decisions were made and within five minutes of seating our orders were placed allowing us to sit back, relax, and listen to everything from slave-era chants to late 40s big band while we waited.

With a few more folks trickling in, mostly young men opting to sit at the bar and booze over breakfast, our first dish to arrive would be an appetizer shared by all and despite my mother’s insistence that she dislikes scones this was the second time in a row (the last at Bouchon) that she exclaimed the words “Best Scone Ever” as she took a bite of the house-made Cinnamon, Honey, and Apricot Scone topped with Clotted Cream. Beginning first with the scone itself – a heterogeneous biscuit dotted with pockets of butter, sugar, and dried apricots – it was marvelous, but what truly put this scone on another level was the smear of clotted cream and an ample drizzle of apricot tinged honey.

With the scone devoured and our coffees finally receiving a refill at my request it would be another short wait before our main courses would arrive and when they did each looked wonderful but only one actually turned out to be so. Beginning first with mine; Croque Madame with Local Ham, Gruyere, Mornay Sauce, and Duck Egg was overall quite good – a prototype in its ingredients and balance but foiled slightly by the country style bread which was far too crunchy at first but became more pliable with the addition of some of the creamy Mornay served alongside and the rupture of the salted quivering egg. Served with skillet potatoes that were fine but nothing to write home about this was a competent dish, but not on par with other croques I’ve had (Michelin Starred or not.)

Moving next to my mother’s choice, Fried Chicken, Waffles, Sweet Potato & Pork Belly Hash, Vermont Maple Syrup – let’s just say the waffle was good and the hash was great while the chicken was…well…even a bit too undercooked for my tastes and damned near raw compared to my mother’s preferences. Beginning first with the waffle – thicker than generally served with chicken but fluffy and full of yeasty vanilla tones that went great with the syrup. Next up, the hash – smoky and sweet, a touch of nutmeg and perfectly prepared. Finally, the chicken – great coating and crunch, but pink flesh and skin so fatty that it was actually wet – a disappointment that my mother (who “doesn’t like to make a scene”) refused to mention, but stated just last week was some of the worst fried chicken she has ever eaten.

Last but not least my aunt selected the Bananas Foster French Toast with Banana Pudding, Bourbon Caramel Sauce, and Goat Cheese Semifreddo – a dish oddly similar to the dessert she’d order that evening at Mindy’s Hot Chocolate, but actually even better. Featuring two thick slices of golden brioche with a supple interior (note to L&E, use this on the Croque) and an eggy custard wash resting in a puddle of warm pureed bananas and topped with savory cream cheese frosting plus boozy salted caramel this was the sort of sweet breakfast I’d have expected from a place like Bongo Room or M.Henry but definitely not from a gastropub – it was shockingly sweet yet surprisingly balanced and while dessert worthy also rather light on the stomach given the fluffy nature of the bread.

Again having to request a refill, this time by raising my hand like a child in elementary school, Gina stopped by to inquire if we were “all finished” and entirely ignoring the mostly uneaten pink chicken proceeded to collect our plates before filling the coffee and leaving the tab. With the bill paid and a modest (undeserved) tip left it was exactly one hour after we entered the Longman & Eagle that we left and all things being equal I rather doubt I’ll ever be back – though I will admit looking at the dessert menu and having experienced the brunch the team does seem to have some skills with the sweet stuff.