Egg

When we got to Egg on south 6th in Williamsburg there were so many other parties waiting ahead of us, writing their names down on the guest list posted out front that we were nearly discouraged and sent off to one of the many lesser brunch options in the neighborhood. Luckily many of the parties ahead of us felt similarly and ended splitting before their name was called. The hostess crossed out like five names from the list and we were soon seated. All those quitters may have had a passable meal, but these is no way they found a place that is nearly as goddamn serious about breakfast as Egg.
The menu was deceptively simple. There were not as many adjectives and compound-words as I had thought there might be. This was not molecular gastronomy, it was really good breakfast. The quality was apparent right away from the excellent coffee they serve to you in your own personal French Press. As the caffeine takes hold and you wait for your food to arrive you can draw on the table with crayons. Chris waited patiently to enjoi his food. "Damn, Homie."
















I went for the eggs Rothko, which was basically Toad-in-the-Hole, an egg and cheese cooked into the hollow middle of a slice of bread. We nerdily conjectured that this version must have gotten it's name not from being a favorite dish of the abstract painter, but for actually kind of looking like one of his works:






















Actually, we are not nerds for figuring this out, they are nerds for thinking of it. The best kind of nerds!
There were confit tomatoes and everything, even the breakfast sausage was either local, sustainable, handmade, artisianal, theraputic, homestyle or some combination thereof. Xina went for cheese grits and there biscuits and blackberry preserves, mimosas and happy-pig pork products being passed around.