I remember having high expectations before trying a Cronut for the first time, thinking, yeah, I'm sure it's all hype. And then I remember biting into it. And in that moment of custardy-butter fueled bliss, I remember thinking, no way. No way does this thing exist. The last time I had one of those moments was at Poilane in France when I bit into an apple tart. And excuse my french, but Cronuts are f!cking awesome.
I have gathered that, like many things, New Yorkers dig coffee and are also very polarized about who brews the best cup. For every coffee snob out there, there are just as many people swearing by the 99-cent instant-ready from the corner bodega. As a new coffee devotee, I decided to accept the self-imposed challenge to find the city's best cup.
Join the adventure in finding the best brunch nyc has to offer! Part deux of the brunch files-- let's go. Cafe Mogador has been around for over 30 years, and I was a late-comer to this party, turning up my first time in August. I've been a mogi ever since (it's like the yogi of brunchers. I made it up).
Join the adventure in finding the best brunch nyc has to offer! I brunch a lot, and I've talked about why brunch is the meal of the gods. So, I decided I needed to start documenting these awesome places individually. Since Egg Shop is the elusive great white buffalo of brunch spots (meaning, to actually get in, you have to have all of the stars align and then also have a little new york magic wafting in your direction), I decided to start this series with my visit.
Rewind to last New Years Day, 10 am. Everyone wakes up, everyone is hungover, everyone is hungry. Where do we go? A french restaurant. Who made this decision? Someone who hates me. And everyone else-- because strange, ornate fish dishes and straight butter at 11am are the enemies of hangovers.
4 years ago I went abroad to Sydney and returned a breakfast lover. And if you've ever been to Australia, you will know why. The country slogan should be "Make eggs, not war." The new gravitation towards Aussie cafe culture has preserved just enough of that unrushed, relaxed vibe for ny to handle.
I wake up on Saturday mornings in a hangover state of confusion and all I want to do is eat eggs, doughnuts, and a lobo roll in one sitting and have it be acceptable. Thank you, brunch, for justifying my hangover cravings and making indecisiveness an advantageous trait.
I have a secret, and it's about a burger. Now, I could spread the word, and hypothetically clue in 11 other lucky burger-eaters tonight (because the kitchen only makes 12 a night, and yes-- I am claiming one), or I can just hoard all the burgers. And this burger is so good, I'm seriously contemplating eating 12 burgers- I think that puts the low in yolo.
Give me ice cream or give me death. My palate may have stopped maturing in 1994, but honestly, to me there is nothing better than a melty cone. And I get it-- the city gets cold in the winter. Like, find-alternate-routes-so-I-don't-walk-through-the-astor-place-wind-tunnel cold. But don't tell that to my tastebuds, because I'm craving it year round.