No. 7 Ludlow Street, New York, NY 10022
I think his name was Brent. He played a small role in my middle school years, but his mom blew my mind. It was a sleepover and she made French toast for breakfast. The bread was so thick and so soft. What is this? Hala bread. Hala? "No Challah!" Whatever. Will you call my mom and give her the recipe? A knowing nod. This woman could cook and was pleased to have a real eater in her house. I ate to the point of being sick. These days I stay away from things like French toast and pancakes. Surgery carbs, yada yada. Choose one – salt or sugar. No contest, salt every time.
But my new dream place for an all-around great brunch (amazing food and cinema, separated by a single set of stairs) has me rethinking that. Eating in the near empty dining room, afternoon about to give way to evening, I was in my happy place remembering the uncomplicated afternoons of a 6th grader. Brent’s mom could cook, but I doubt it ever occurred to her to put a whole half of grilled peach on the Challah bread French toast. And go heavy on the superb maple syrup. And yes, that’s coconut shavings on top. Badass.