Brunch at Gabrielle Hamilton’s Prune
The visceral confessional that was Gabrielle Hamilton’s memoir Blood, Bones, and Butter made me want to eat at her restaurant Prune in New York. I’d actually stayed near this beloved little place a few times—call me weird, I love Chinatown hotels—but had never made it in to dine.
It was a sunny morning, and the line at Prune was already a few groups deep when we arrived. The wait wasn’t as long as we’d anticipated, however, and soon we were sitting awkwardly at a table in the doorway.
Prune is tiny. But also adorable—unvarnished with a banged up Parisian elegance. The cheerfully bohemian atmosphere makes up for the fact that seating can be a tight squeeze.
In order to beat the crowd, we had arrived before noon—which in New York on Sundays means no alcohol. This was unfortunate as I’d wanted to try the Chicago Matchbox, a version of a Bloody Mary made with housemade lemon vodka, brussels sprouts, caperberries, radishes, and turnips.
Prune’s brunch menu has a few unusual twists. Both the spaghetti carbonara as well as the sausage and raw oyster plate are not typical omelette and benedict fare.
We settled on our choices of Egg “En Cocotte,” Spicy Stewed Chick Peas, and the Fresh Ricotta.
The egg was coddled with ‘savory chicken,’ and while it was delicious, it was also a touch unsettling. There’s just something a bit odd about having herbaceous chicken for breakfast.
The Ricotta arrived with raspberries, sun-dried figs, toasted pine nuts and honey. This was an elegant and simple not-too-sweet dish to start the day. The housemade ricotta was divine.
The plate of Stewed Chick Peas was the surprise of the morning. These two butter crumbed eggs swiftly made their way into the pantheon of most memorable egg preparations ever. Perfectly cooked with a slight crunch, and resting on a bed of chick peas with tomato and preserved lemon, they were magnificent. And it was a beautiful dish to behold as well as devour.
I had fretted that following the publication of Hamilton’s bestseller— in which Prune figures heavily—the restaurant would be overrun by looky-loos. But I didn’t feel this was the case. Brunch was stellar, despite the liquor law, and I’ll be back the next time I wake up in Chinatown.
EGG SLUTS!
Eggslut is the name of a food truck that travels the open roads of Los Angeles, CA.
Their famous signature dish, The Slut, is a jar-coddled egg atop potato puree with chives and grey salt.
Ruth Reichl recently sampled The Slut— then tweeted and blogged about it—at a moment I happened to be especially vulnerable, i.e. ravenously hungry. I was immediately in lust love and had to attempt reverse engineering this culinary beauty.
Such simplicity requires primo ingredients. I waited until I could go to the Saturday Farmer’s Market and purchase fresh (“laid Thursday”) eggs from Pecatonica Valley Farm. Then I procured a gorgeous baguette still hot out of the oven from Karin and Brian at Baker’s Window at the Fountain.
Next, I assembled the other required ingredients: jars, grey salt, chives, and potato puree (mashed potatoes thinned with butter and heavy cream in an almost 2:1 ratio).
To assemble: Put a layer of the potato puree into the bottom half of each jar, leaving a depression for the yokes. Then crack the eggs gently into the jars, cover them in foil, and place into a water bath:
Simmer for 10 minutes, let sit covered for another 5 with the burner off (if they’re not quite done, uncover the jars and put a lid on your pan so that the tops can steam). For the bread: slice on a bias, brush with olive oil, and put under the broiler. Garnish eggs with salt and chives. The Slut, completed:
Although it seems a touch complicated in its construction, the result is truly remarkable. The Slut is a warming, comforting, textural revelation. The equivalent of a sexy egg sundae. When the spoon touches it, the yoke breaks and the silky steamed whites yield easily. Underneath, the puree is a deeply satisfying volcanic substrata. The richness of the potatoes, butter, cream and egg is then piqued and finished with the salt and fresh chive.
Just imagine all that luxurious smoothness contrasting with the crisp crostini. Try it, and you too will become an egg slut.
andré darlington 