I rose before noon this Sunday morning. I rose before noon because of the promise of a delectable brunch and because I did not care to start my day with an intolerably long wait. The Clinton Street Baking Company lived up to its hype. The menu had more temptations than a D.C. lobbyist. The place is most well known for its pancakes (wild Maine blueberry or banana walnut), and as far as I could tell, they looked fluffy and golden, very much the sort of pancakes I would want to eat were I a pancake person. But there was only one obvious choice: the southern breakfast. I savored the two eggs (scrambled), superbly creamy cheese grits, fried green tomatoes, and sugar cured bacon, paired with a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. I also sampled some of my dining companion's buttermilk biscuit. These people are not shy about the use of butter or cream. Well done, I say, well done.
The service was efficient and friendly (even if the hostess was clearly not a morning person and should rethink her career path). But be forewarned: although we got there by 11:15 a.m., we still had to wait some 45 minutes. Who knew Lower East Siders were such early risers?
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