The Septimus Notes

Sunday, March 27, 2005

|Brunch Review: iCi.|

Today, Michelle and I journeyed from the safe isle of Manhattan to the forgotten extention of King's County (a.k.a. Brooklyn), to brunch at Ici (French for "Here"), iCi according to the sign and the deftly-stocked business card.

I found iCi to be a fine brunch location selection. Kudos to Michelle and the New York Times. The decor was homey, yet not overly casual. It seemed to me to be a hybrid of what would be the guest house of a member of the First Estate for his younger clergy-man brother to stay in when visiting and Apt (yes, it's designed to be like someone's "apartment") in the West Village. Only instead of being in 17th century France, it's smack dab in 21st century New York. And instead of serving over-priced drinks which can be drunk on an "outside" "terrace" with floodlights that cast chain-smoking shadow puppets onto the walls, iCi serves more-than-decently priced challah French toast (should that be capitalized?) and vegetable frittatas with a back patio that was closed due to this reticent-to-depart winter season.

The balance to the good price was that I felt our server to be a little unwarm. Not a necessary condition, but it helps to feel like your server wants you there, right? As well, after she knocked coffee into the lap of a neighbor bruncher, I was a little jittery. My nervousness was not alleviated when she walked into the back of my chair, either. As far as I know, I made it out of iCi stain-free. Well, no stains caused by my waitress, at any rate.

All that aside, all I can say was that the French toast (seriously, should that be capitalized?) was thick, rich, not egg-y. The apple slices which topped it melted in my mouth. And I've had a bigger bill at a solo brunch.

Here? I'm there.

promulgated by SWS2.1 at 22:26.
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