I’m what you call a pretty busy person, or at least have the semblance of one. If I didn’t have anything better to do, I’d probably have a more well-tended food blog. Or not.
But you know, my to-do list is really long. And on that to-do list is a neverending turnover of restaurant after restaurant. In this city, even supposed giants fall one day. I was so surprised to hear a while back that Lumière was closing down (and subsequently did). Looks like I’d better get to my wishlist quick!
Oh, and I did try. I had heard a lot about Twisted Fork Bistro from all corners already, and it’s all positive. Brunch is my favorite meal, and I make it my duty to explore as many different brunch places as possible; it’s not nearly as ubiquitous as I’ve always thought it to be.
Twisted Fork isn’t a place that’s hard for me to get to; on weekend mornings I have the option of walking over to try my luck. Try my luck I did, not once, not twice, but three times. The first time it was a hurried “hey, let’s do this!” spontaneity that led us with hungry bellies to Twisted Fork, only to be left aghast at how long the lineup in front of us already was. Our heads droopy and our tummies still hungry, we Charlie Browned our way out of there, only to show up a second time defeated in pretty much the same way.
Friends who were veterans of the T-Fork (by which I mean people who have been at least once, which was at that time more than me) had suggested we should go bright and early, right when it opens. Then we can’t possibly fail! Right?
So we got to the door, just a hair shy of 10:30am on a Saturday, and the entire place was already seated. I hate all you savvy people who got there 5 minutes before us.
As I shook my fists angrily, we slunk away to Blenz to wait out our ultimate goal. By the time we came back around 11, we waited another fifteen or so minutes as a table was finally cleared and we earned our thrones at the castle of brunchy foodstuffs.
Oh kingdom of tasty things (presumedly), I will conquer you.
A very classic eggs benny for B.
An omelette for S.
And for me, gruyère baked eggs.
All the plates were escorted by pillowy sourdough toast, which seems to be a very T-Fork thing. I enjoyed it a lot, but I’m not sure I really needed half a loaf on my plate.
The gruyère baked eggs looked rather unassuming, but baked into a slightly crisp top, breaking into moist and fluffy eggs strewn with expertly melted cheese, the only complaint I had was that it was too hot to eat at the rate I was intent on scarfing it down at. I could not stuff my face nearly fast enough after the longest brunch blue balls of my life.
You’re probably not going to believe me if I said I didn’t have astronomical expectations of this place, because I swear I didn’t! Alas, the rest of the plate was disappointing, especially the rosti. It tasted exactly like the time I made rosti at home… and failed miserably. It just wasn’t any good. It was grey, and had a mushy starchiness to it that I felt was the antithesis of what a potato pancake should ever be. Don’t you tell me this is a matter of “preference”. That’s bullshit. There is a singular truth to potato pancakes, and this rosti does not abide.
All in all, I ate until I clutched my stomach in helplessness. It was a rewarding brunch, given all the build-up to this moment. Let me tell you, sticking to my guns and making sure that I had that brunch was a good decision. Not wearing pants/tight clothing around the waist was also a good decision.