Saturday, April 16, 2005

Fred 62: Dining for the tragically hip

I just returned from brunch on the East side with a few of my fave Eastsiders. Since I'd never been to Fred 62, (I know, how dare I consider myself cool?), we decided that today would be my initiation. I arrived fashionably late, as any cool person must, and we were seated promptly. I am told this isn't the usual experience, but that's what happened, so I'm reporting it just like a the fake foodie newster that I am.

The menu is long and involved, and has fun names like Bearded Mr. Frenchy and The Dime Bag. One of my compatriots ordered a Bearded Mr. Frenchy for the table, just so we could taste french toast dredged in corn flakes. It was delish, a perfect combination of crunch with fluffy, buttery, yummy french toast, just right in the egg department, i.e. not soggy at all. The bread tasted like brioche, but I'm not sure what it was. Regardless, it was good.

I was having the same sweet vs. savory debate I always have at brunch, so the french toast solved my problem right away. I ordered the California omelette, complete with goat cheese, avocado, chicken sausage, grilled onions, and sun-dried tomatoes, which I left out and subbed in fresh tomatoes. Sun-dried tomatoes are so 1990, I mean, where are the oven-dried tomatoes? This prompted a long discussion with our server, who agreed with me that sun-dried tomatoes aren't so good, but she was coming from the "I just don't like tomatoes" camp. Even though we'd arrived at the same place, I think her kind are delusional and missing out on one of life's great treats: the sun-ripened, home grown tomato. But I digress. My friends ordered the Santa Fe Frittata (eggs, chorizo, roasted pasilla chiles, grilled onions, diced tomato, tortilla chips & jack cheese, topped with rancho habanero chile sauce, scallions, cilantro, and sour cream), and the Eggs 2 X 4, which is your basic eggs, hash browns, bacon or sausage, and toast deal. Everyone seemed happy with their meal. I thought my omelette was good, but I have yet to have an omelette where the eggs aren't hopelessly browned and dry and flopped or folded over on all the ingredients. I guess I'm looking for something between an omelette and a scramble. Maybe I'll find it one day.

All in all it made for a very nice morning. It's absolutely gorgeous out, and I couldn't be happier. I wouldn't mind catching my second wind after the food coma wears off, however. All in good time. Now I must tend to the chocolate peanut butter truffles, or squares, or tiny bites of heaven that I'm bringing to my friend's wedding reception this evening. Remind me to elope and then have a party when I decide to get married. It seems so much more sane. Dad, I'm not talking to you. I might change my mind.


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