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5 excellent places to have breakfast in the West Village, New York City

02/07/2015 by Charlotte Leave a Comment

They say that the best blog posts are useful.

When we were in New York a couple of months ago, the thing I googled most frequently was ‘breakfast west village new york’ (because none of us bother with capitalisation or punctuation on google, do we.) And the internet was a great help to me so it seems only fair that I return the favour and help any future NYC visitors enjoy the same breakfasty splendour that we had.

There are many great things about NYC but my highlight was definitely breakfast. Partly because, as is tradition, it always came at the very start of the day when we had a whole seven hours or so of exploring ahead, and partly because the food was just so damn good. We were there five days, had five breakfasts and I would recommend every single one. They come to you now in chronological order, informed by the small travel diary I am now very pleased that I kept.

1. French Roast, 78 West 11th Street

The first day of a holiday is just marvellous, isn’t it. So much joy, so much hope, so much time ahead when you don’t have to have discussions about how you’re going to get back to the airport or whether either of you has kept a spare plastic bag aside to carry your worn socks home in. Our first morning took us to French Roast. This place is ideal for your first American brekkie with a choice of all the things you want to see on the menu – eggs, omelettes, fruit, pancakes – as well as the option to sit outside and watch Sixth Avenue fly by. In my jet lagged state I didn’t feel ready to stomach the full NY breakfast experience just yet so opted for the yogurt and fruit with a bonus drop of honey which was delicious, and my husband Leon had eggs Florentine (like he does absolutely everywhere that will sell them to him) and enjoyed it very much. All round a very cool, reasonably priced and friendly little joint. A very strong welcome to NYC.

2. Buvette, 42 Grove Street

If I knew I only had one day left on earth and the choice of just one last breakfast, I would have it here. Positioned on one of the many gorgeous tree-lined streets in this part of town sits Buvette, a petite but perfectly formed café bringing a beautiful touch of Paris to the village. If you go, try and get a seat at the counter where you can watch the magic happen (there are no reservations). I had the Belgian waffles which tasted all the better for having witnessed the mixture being poured onto the griddle and the doughy results plated up in front of me before being drizzled with berries and crème fraiche. They were so soft and so sweet that I had to hold back a tear when they were gone – which they were as soon as I’d stopped taking photographs of them. Leon had fried eggs, prosciutto and chorizo on toast and didn’t say a word until he’d eaten every last bite which is always a good sign. He also says the coffee was the best he’s ever had. So there. Go.

(I understand there is also a Buvette in Paris so will be on the next train out there).

3. Cornelia Street Café, 29 Cornelia Street

On day three – which peaked at 32 degrees – in pursuit of some early morning sustenence, we stumbled upon this Franco-American café just off lovely Bleecker Street and sat at table in the window beneath the bright red awning to try and cool down. This place is wonderfully calm and relaxing and there are seats outside too. The highlight of our visit was our waiter who was able to predict just by listening to my English accent that when I ordered ‘eggs any style’ that I’d want them poached. “It’s a thing, right?” he said with a knowing smile before then doing an excellent impression of a British person saying the word ‘poached’. I guess you had to be there but it was VERY funny. And the food was excellent too. Whoever came up with the idea that breakfast should come with a side of garlic potatoes is a very clever person.

4. Hu Kitchen, 78 5th Avenue

This café is everything I thought New York would be. The food and drink is all supremely healthy – everything is entirely gluten free, unprocessed, clean – you feel like it’s the kind of place you’d love to be able to afford to eat in every day and just sit back and watch your skin glow. We both had a sausage, egg and kale open sandwich which was good and just very wholesome. Unlike almost every single other piece of gluten free bread I’ve eaten (which is a lot, by the way – when I’m not on holiday I keep myself as gluten free as I can in the interests of not being permanently bloated #hotstuff) this was actually really tasty. The fruit smoothies were splendid too. It’s a little on the pricey side compared to some of the other places we went but it very much feels like you’re paying for goodness so it’s definitely worth a try.

5. Café Cluny, 284 W 12th Street

If I knew that I only had two days left on earth and the choice of two last breakfasts, I’d have the first at Buvette and the second at Café Cluny. Our final hurrah in the West Village before getting on the plane back to London was here and WHAT a way to go. Another lovely café on another beautiful street, permanently populated by people walking the best dogs I have ever seen. This is how I shall remember New York. Go here and have the chili avocado on toast (which FYI comes gluten free and delicious as standard. How can we get some of this excellent bread delivered to London?) with a poached egg on top. I can also recommend the pancakes which were MASSIVE but Leon took them on and nobly ate every last piece. I was so proud of him.

I very much hope that this is useful and that it helps somebody someday have a lovely NYC breakfast. Save me a fork-full of waffle, won’t you.

Gone in 60 minutes: When married people go out for dinner

16/11/2014 by Charlotte Leave a Comment

How long does it normally take you to go out for dinner with your other half? An hour and a half? Two hours? Maybe even three if there’s a strong selection of cheese on the menu.

They’re great. The long lingering meals, the peering at each other over the salt and pepper, the flirtatious sips of gins and tonics, and seductive gnawing on garlic bread.

But when you live together, sometimes that’s not what you’re looking for from a trip out to an eatery. Sometimes you just want to eat.

All couples have a list of their go-to favourite places, often within walking distance of their house to allow for booze-fuelled wobbling home. We’ve got a Japanese place we frequent so often we should probably pay rent, a sushi joint where we can recite the entire menu and a cheap and cheerful noodle cafe which is as good at prawn dumplings as it is at strip lighting. And now we know them so well that we can put on our shoes, leave the house, order our food, eat, pay for it and get back through our front door within 60 minutes. Even less if the buses are on our side.

Because with knowledge comes speed. I know that at the Japanese I’ll have the calamares, the beef teriyaki and an aloe juice, and that at the sushi house I’ll have everything on the menu that features tempura, followed by the melty chocolatey fondant. Sure, you can bring me a menu if you want but I’ll only use it to point at the same things I select every single time we go there. There’s none of that ‘Can we just have a couple more minutes?’ malarkey with us; even if one of us pops to the loo, the other can order on their behalf. Our trip is as predictable as it is delicious.

They don’t tell you this when you get married. Sure, they talk to you about patience and tolerance and always being best friends, yadayadayada, but I don’t remember the bit when they said ‘And, as an added bonus, there will be a selection of restaurants that you’ll know so well that you can be there and back in less time than it takes to watch an edition of Match of the Day (though it will definitely feel a lot quicker).’

The great thing about going out with somebody you’ve been with for a long time is that you can admit that sometimes your hunger is so consuming that you won’t be able to speak until your dinner arrives. We can just agree to use our remaining energy to both glare at the kitchen until somebody brings us our food. We can have a proper conversation once we’ve stopped our stomachs from grumbling or over email or whatever. Right now, we’re here to eat.

But don’t take this as a complaint. This little ritual makes me just as happy as when we head further afield to try somewhere new. Speedy local eating is just an extra part of the marriage deal, like joint credit cards, anniversaries, and threats of divorce every time you ask for help changing the bed.

I used to look at couples who weren’t saying anything to each other over dinner with real pity. I assumed they were on the brink of a split, and were just sat there working out who would get the dog and who originally paid for the Lighthouse Family CD. But now I know differently. There’s a good chance they’re happier than they’ve ever been. They’re just ravenous and sat quietly waiting for his beer, her passion fruit mojito, and the crab sushi rolls that they both love almost as much as they love each other.

Almost.