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Published On: Sep 20, 2005 08:10 PM
Total entries in this category:
Published On: Sep 20, 2005 08:10 PM
Lacroix
210 W. Rittenhouse Square, Philadelphia, PA, (215)
790-2533
For as long as I can remember, I have loved Sunday
brunch. As a child, I didn't look forward to Sunday mass; I looked forward to
the brunch immediately following it, when I could gorge myself on rasher upon
rasher of bacon. When I posted my first website, a Sunday brunch review page was
one of the first to be created (with, as some of you may remember, separate
ratings for the brunch as a whole and then for the bacon quality), as I wanted
to share with the world my love for the most perfect of meals—perfect
because of its inherent qualities: late morning, just after you wake up,
all-you-can-eat, and at a leisurely, almost drowsy
pace.
So, when I was told I would be getting a fancy meal for my birthday, it was a no-brainer: let's go for a fancy Sunday Brunch. After perusing various reviews, I chose Lacroix in Philadelphia. Patrons had labeled it the best of the city, so that sounded good enough for me.
After being seated at a window table overlooking Rittenhouse Square, and receiving the requisite brunch beverages of hot coffee, ice water, and a sparkling mimosa, we turned to our first course. The cold buffet was set up for individual servings. Meaning, instead of having a big mess of cold white corn soup to ladle, they came in little shot glasses; the quail egg with ratatouille was perched delicately on a bent spoon. I attempted to be ever-so-dignified and attacked the selection of caviar, but turned down the oysters and shrimp, saving myself like some sort of eating virgin for the best to come. This review is somewhat lacking because I cannot remember everything I ate: the sheer quantity and quality of selections was astounding.
After we finished the cold buffet, we were escorted into the kitchen where the hot buffet was. Again, simplicity: the chefs did not plunk down a whole chafing dish of barely cold scrambled eggs, but instead featured individual cups of oeufs broillarde with sweetbreads and soft eggs with a pepper succotash. Walking to the side, I glimpsed the French baguette toast, which was almost too much to handle. I returned to my seat with the selections, and the requisite bacon. Perfection, really: not too crispy, not too soggy, but that perfect blend of sweet and sour, crunchy and soft that marks truly great bacon. For my second go-round, I decided to branch out and get the bacon-wrapped figs (I thought it wonderfully explosive, the fig exploding in your mouth after your teeth get past that heavenly pork protective covering). I also selected a twee heart-shaped mini-Belgian waffle upon which I ladled fresh blackberries and raspberries, and then drizzled the best syrup I have ever had. Seriously.
Then came dessert. There were the piles and piles of cold desserts—along with the ridiculous passion fruit crème brulée (probably the best non-pie, non-cake dessert I have ever had), there was a hazelnut mousse cake-like thing and various sorbets with a raspberry puree. However, in the kitchen, there was the coup de grace: a chocolate fountain—which resembled one of those champagne fountains at wedding receptions, but which oozed flowing chocolate from three feet above you—and a smaller caramel fountain. For your dipping pleasure, there were the usual suspects of pound cake, strawberries, and pineapple, but then there were special guest stars of mini glazed donuts, mini-churros, and then mini pistachio rice krispy treats.
The entire time, I kept saying to myself, are you kidding me? And of course the service was ridiculous—attentive but not cloying, largely invisible (I love returning from a buffet to a new place setting, empty space for my newly loaded plate, and a freshly folded napkin, as if there were little sprites under the table just waiting for me to leave so they can spruce up the place), and to make things just the best ever, there was a stainless steel carafe on the table at all times, brimming with hot delicious java. I left the restaurant almost sick to my stomach, but sick in that wonderful, brunch-induced way.
Is it expensive? Why, yes: with our two brunches, mimosa, cucumber martini, and tax and tip, I think we hit $150 or so. Was it worth it? By G-d, yes: one of the best meals I have ever had.
So, when I was told I would be getting a fancy meal for my birthday, it was a no-brainer: let's go for a fancy Sunday Brunch. After perusing various reviews, I chose Lacroix in Philadelphia. Patrons had labeled it the best of the city, so that sounded good enough for me.
After being seated at a window table overlooking Rittenhouse Square, and receiving the requisite brunch beverages of hot coffee, ice water, and a sparkling mimosa, we turned to our first course. The cold buffet was set up for individual servings. Meaning, instead of having a big mess of cold white corn soup to ladle, they came in little shot glasses; the quail egg with ratatouille was perched delicately on a bent spoon. I attempted to be ever-so-dignified and attacked the selection of caviar, but turned down the oysters and shrimp, saving myself like some sort of eating virgin for the best to come. This review is somewhat lacking because I cannot remember everything I ate: the sheer quantity and quality of selections was astounding.
After we finished the cold buffet, we were escorted into the kitchen where the hot buffet was. Again, simplicity: the chefs did not plunk down a whole chafing dish of barely cold scrambled eggs, but instead featured individual cups of oeufs broillarde with sweetbreads and soft eggs with a pepper succotash. Walking to the side, I glimpsed the French baguette toast, which was almost too much to handle. I returned to my seat with the selections, and the requisite bacon. Perfection, really: not too crispy, not too soggy, but that perfect blend of sweet and sour, crunchy and soft that marks truly great bacon. For my second go-round, I decided to branch out and get the bacon-wrapped figs (I thought it wonderfully explosive, the fig exploding in your mouth after your teeth get past that heavenly pork protective covering). I also selected a twee heart-shaped mini-Belgian waffle upon which I ladled fresh blackberries and raspberries, and then drizzled the best syrup I have ever had. Seriously.
Then came dessert. There were the piles and piles of cold desserts—along with the ridiculous passion fruit crème brulée (probably the best non-pie, non-cake dessert I have ever had), there was a hazelnut mousse cake-like thing and various sorbets with a raspberry puree. However, in the kitchen, there was the coup de grace: a chocolate fountain—which resembled one of those champagne fountains at wedding receptions, but which oozed flowing chocolate from three feet above you—and a smaller caramel fountain. For your dipping pleasure, there were the usual suspects of pound cake, strawberries, and pineapple, but then there were special guest stars of mini glazed donuts, mini-churros, and then mini pistachio rice krispy treats.
The entire time, I kept saying to myself, are you kidding me? And of course the service was ridiculous—attentive but not cloying, largely invisible (I love returning from a buffet to a new place setting, empty space for my newly loaded plate, and a freshly folded napkin, as if there were little sprites under the table just waiting for me to leave so they can spruce up the place), and to make things just the best ever, there was a stainless steel carafe on the table at all times, brimming with hot delicious java. I left the restaurant almost sick to my stomach, but sick in that wonderful, brunch-induced way.
Is it expensive? Why, yes: with our two brunches, mimosa, cucumber martini, and tax and tip, I think we hit $150 or so. Was it worth it? By G-d, yes: one of the best meals I have ever had.
Posted: Tue - September 20, 2005 at 08:10 PM |