I am too lazy to write a proper flog post. Or spell correctly, apparently. But you may click below.

Love,
jo

Brown Sugar Kitchen, West Oakland, Oakland, CA.

“All of the Above,” aka:
Two eggs (over easy)
Green salad (sub for breakfast potatoes)
Acme wheat toast
Niman Ranch ham
& an espresso

I don’t know what it is about this place. Thoroughly agnostic as I am, I’m skeptical of any restaurant that proclaims its food has soul, much less new soul. Previously, I’d journeyed here for a pulled pork sandwich, and despite its West Oakland trappings, found the food as whitey-whitewashed as T-Rex BBQ, though with less gusto, far less satisfying macaroni and cheese and a dearth of whiskey. It was so uneventful (and me, so lazy) that I didn’t bother writing about it.

Service was tepid, aloof, and proceeded at its own pace, which is to say it was egregiously slow, given the dining room’s emptiness and my order’s simplicity. If you’re going to spend twenty minutes making toast and over easy eggs, at least have my espresso arrive sooner than halfway through the process. When the food did arrive, the eggs were SOLID and decidedly past medium. The salad was woefully overdressed, any crisp freshness smothered by strangely lumpy vinaigrette, as if someone tried to pull a fast one on “creamy balsamic” by incorporating something gelatinous. The espresso was the typical broad-appeal Blue Bottle shot: heavy mouthfeel, laden with crema, impossibly robust but lacking finesse, i.e., will happily take a gallon of milk but still taste the same.

Ironically, or perhaps appropriately, the meal was saved by one of the hallmarks of California cuisine: quality ingredients. The toast was perfect due to the inherent wondrousness of Acme bread; the lightly smoked, meaty but lean Niman Ranch ham was redemption from every serving of briny pressed meats I’d consumed in my youth. But what good is simplicity when you can’t even get my order right? Resigned to my fate, I constructed a fried egg and ham sandwich, which would have been cheaper (and cheesier) to order in the first place.

It was $12 with an adequate tip that they didn’t really deserve. Should’ve made the trek to 900 Grayson instead. I will give BSK another shot for the sake of chicken and waffles; I don’t know why I keep avoiding the restaurant’s signature dish. Lowering my expectations, perhaps?

P.S. – Delicious espresso can be found in Mountain View, of all places. Get thee to Dana Street Roastery and have a shot, preferably made from Yemen Moka (refined but not constrained, with layers upon layers of flavor), preferably pulled by the affable gentleman sporting the handlebar mustache, preferably in a delightfully dry macchiato.

900 Grayson, West Berkeley, Berkeley, CA.

“Breakfast” (Fresh Farm Eggs, Nueske’s Double Smoked Bacon, Idaho Hashed Browns, Toasted Acme Levain)
Donut holes
Coffee

My companion and I were both up early, discussing the possibility of phở for breakfast, when he mentioned 900 Grayson. I quickly convinced him that the prospect of coffee at 8 am was far better than that of coffee at 10 am. Regardless of hype, the restaurant was fairly empty on a Saturday morning at 8:30. The interior was warm, simple, comfortable, with well-considered decor that was Berkeley’s brand of upscale-quaint without being overly kitschy (I’m looking at you, Bette’s).

We started with the requisite donut holes, which are outsourced from elsewhere but are improved by reheating until warm and then serving in a sno-cone wrapper. Clever.

I ordered the “Breakfast,” a pretty standard combination which I thought would demonstrate the restaurant’s core competencies. It did: lovely, ungreasy, smoky-sweet bacon; a slow-crisped patty of real hash browns; slightly overcrisped but well-advertised Acme levain toast with wonderfully syrupy homemade blueberry jam. The only thing that didn’t floor me was the eggs, which simply tasted like… slow-cooked scrambled eggs. I’m not complaining; it just wasn’t exceptional.

“One of us has to order the Demon Lover,” he decreed. And so it was done. Delectable, delicately spiced fried chicken over a thin buttermilk waffle, covered in the best, creamiest, most delicious gravy ever created. I’m almost glad that I didn’t order it myself, given the spontaneous artery-clogging death it would have induced.

The staff is attentive and vigilant about refilling the coffee, which is also quite excellent. It is indeed hearty, down-home breakfast basics done the eccentric Berkeley way, but in this case, it works!

(Around $30 for two.)

–

Oliveto (Cafe), Rockridge, Oakland, CA.

Two poached farm eggs with toast and prosciutto cotto
Pot of earl gray tea

I wanted to like this place; I really did. I enjoyed sitting at my window table, surrounded by Rockridge’s finest, elegantly dressed, bookclub-attending middle-aged women, sipping pot after pot of tea while staring out at the strangely melancholy street. For such a well-appointed cafe, there was a sad lack of reading material; New York Times mobile was my only companion.

In memory of Caffe 817 (which still exists — I just don’t frequent it for breakfast as much), I ordered the classically Italian toast, eggs, and prosciutto triumvirate. The rather thick-cut prosciutto cotto (of the cooked, not cured variety) was reminiscent of unremarkable pastrami, lacking the fat, salt and spicy punch that make pastrami interesting. The eggs were poached slightly more than I prefer, disappointing me with their reluctant runniness. The star of the meal was actually the toast, which I can only assume is Acme levain (hey, Oliveto is borne of Chez Panisse alums as well, isn’t it?) slathered with butter and their deep amber, perfectly bittersweet house-made marmalade.

I will provide a comparison: while Caffe 817 has newspapers, odd characters, and an slightly larger menu (and horribly inconsistent espresso), Oliveto Cafe is a far more lovely and refined place to ruminate, provided that you bring your own reading material. Perhaps I may return for coffee and a pastry with a copy of the New Yorker, but Oliveto is ultimately too far out of my way for breakfast unless I have other reasons to be in Rockridge.

–

Given my apparent obsession with Chez Panisse alums’ toast and jam, maybe I should try Pizzaiolo’s morning offerings next. I don’t suppose any of you have been there?

(A one-line review of Pizzaiolo, just for kicks: pizza and pastas, fantastic; cocktails, forgettable; service, abominable.)