Rating: 💋 💋 💋 💋
Okay guys, I had a lot of fun activities scheduled for this past weekend and I was very psyched for it. This weekend was also an ordeal and a half, and I find the AWOL MTA service in my area of Brooklyn and my defunct iPhone as the source for all my tears. I mean...I didn't actually cry, but we were getting close, my friends, and I do not like that!
The issue is, the trains in my area do not run on weekends right now because of construction, so from midnight on Friday until 5am on Monday I am trapped in my part of Brooklyn. In order to take the train, I have to take a Lyft or Uber to another train and go from there. It is still at least cheaper than taking a car the whole way, but everything has to be planned in great detail. The trouble is, my cell phone is four years old and with every update it becomes more and more ineffective. So ineffective that I miss texts, if I have more than five pictures in my Photos my phone has an absolute spaz attack, and no matter what I do to protect my battery health, it is constantly dying. It is always on low battery to extend its life, but that doesn't do too much anymore. Forty degrees outside? Phone dies. Has to actually place a call? Phone dies. Is used to check the time? Yep. Dead phone.
I left my house with 100% battery Friday and as I arrived at my friend's birthday in the Lower East Side, thirty-six minutes later, my phone was dead. I had not even used it. I knew the trains stopped at midnight so I needed my phone to work, cos if I couldn't call a Lyft, I couldn't get home. It's disgusting really, how necessary phones have become to living life effectively. The birthday party was a bar crawl, so for me it was an outlet crawl. I had brought my charger cos I know my phone is a piece of trash at this point, and I just went from venue to venue, searching for outlets so I could power my phone enough to survive the night.
By the time I got to Sunday, I was exhausted. Of course, the route to brunch should have been easy, but I had a lost Lyft, a delayed train, a constantly circling Google maps route, a missed Lyft because my phone died before I got picked up, a rude concierge who would not let me charge my phone or call me a taxi, a stolen outlet that revived my phone, and yet another Lyft to contend with.
Writing this, I am just like, okay, so what? First world problems, get over it. And I did, it is all fine. I am grateful I made it to brunch, and that I even get to go to brunch in the first place. I am grateful they still gave me a table even though I arrived thirty minutes late to my reservation. These problems are not terrible, they are just a bit tedious.
So, mimosas.
Maura is the biggest trooper, because she arrived ten minutes early, and then had to wait for me to arrive thirty minutes late. I was already aware of the fact that she is the best, but man. I feel guilty for being so delayed, but also outrageously lucky to have such a good friend in her. She didn't even complain, and she totally could have.
So, Pardon My French is set up with a bar counter in the front and a dining room full of dark wooden furniture and warm lighting. There is also outside dining, and I am determined to go back when the sun comes back out so I can eat on the patio. For this visit, Maura and I sat at a small, circular corner table. Brunch was crowded, and it was difficult for our waiter to navigate to our table, but the other table's diners were accommodating enough to scoot in to create a path for him to get to us, and we didn't need much after we placed our orders anyway, so it was not a huge problem. I think on a casual day the room arrangement would be fine, but if you're a small party in the midst of a bottomless brunch crowd, then you run the risk of getting lost as we did. Still, the host could not have been kinder to me despite my late arrival, our waiter was super nice, and the food runner was funny about passing us our plates between the two tables that crowded us.
Pardon My French bottomless brunch offer features your choice of entree plus two hours worth of unlimited refills of mimosas or bloody Mary's for thirty bucks, which is a pretty good deal. Maura and I both opted for mimosas. I still do not understand the existence of the bloody Mary. That drink just screams "invented by a hungover person who was doing the best with what their kitchen had to offer." My taste buds are strongly opposed. Mimosas, on the other hand, are a crowd favorite, always a good time. The PMF mimosas are not anything exceptional, but they are solid. They aren't super strong, but strike a good balance between champagne and orange juice, and they taste pretty good, as far as brunch mimosas go. My only critique is the ice cubes. I know they are just trying to keep the pitchers cold without the extra ice bucket accessory - space is tight enough as it is! - but by the time you get to the bottom of the pitcher, you get watery mimosas. I don't really put ice in anything (except water, so don't even try to pull that one) because I don't like watered down drinks. This started back in second grade when some ice cubes ruined my glass of Sunkist at a family party, and it holds true today. Watery orange juice is even worse than watery soda. Hold the ice, please.
Maura and I, without consulting each other, both ordered the eggs Scandinavian, and they were delicious. The food arrived fast and very well done. The potatoes were seasoned well and crispy, and once the egg yolks spilled onto them they reached their peak. The hollandaise soaked so well into the eggy salmon and biscuit. The greatest stand out, though, was the salad. The mustard vinaigrette they use to moisten the lettuce is phenomenal. Tangy and perfectly portioned so all the lettuce is well-dressed without wilting under the weight of too much dressing, I was raving about it. Then Maura took a bite and, surprised, looked at me and said, "Oh my God, it is really good!" Salad is not the showstopper; it's a nice side, but not much is expected of it. This salad calls that into question. It was easily my favorite part of the meal.
This was my second visit to Pardon My French. It will not be my last. My first visit, Columbus Day weekend senior year of college, I ordered the French toast with bananas, berries, and nutella, and it blew my mind. Between these two entrees, I would still vote french toast over eggs Scandinavian, but both are a correct choice. I stand by what I said senior year, "If Pardon My French has eight items on the menu, I am coming back eight times at least." I need to try everything that they offer. It's worth it.
As I watched the many birthday parties go by, I considered abandoning the plans I had considered for my birthday, just so I could go to Pardon My French. They put on quite a show. My only stipulation is, the song they sing must be 'Birthday Cake' by Rihanna. I don't know, stay tuned for the birthday episode coming this spring.
In the meanwhile, add Pardon My French to your list of bottomless brunch options and enjoy!
Happy Thanksgiving!
XX,
MK
Comments