"Burke" Bigger Than Its Bite

[mappress mapid="226"]

THERE ARE A NUMBER OF places I have reminded myself I have to either return to or, after walking by the place, make a note to try out for the first time. Sometimes I can accomplish that visit with even a few days. More often, a little longer. Too often I'm so busy trying to stay "current" that, after a long period of time—say, over a year—the possibility of getting to some of these places have all but disappeared.

I first walked by David Burke at Bloomingdale's, it was on the way to my first visit to the excellent Wafel & Dinges truck that was on 59th between Park and Lex. And, oddly, after I friend of mine visiting for Cambridge, Massachusetts asked me to find a decent brunch place in the middle ground between her hotel in Midtown West and my home on the UES. Once David Burke's place showed up in my first internet searches, I decided it was only fair time to finally check the place out.

My friend Marita, a fellow photographer, and I met just after 11:30 a.m. on Sunday, seated at a table in one of the two long, tight, and separate dining rooms that house the restaurant, divided by one of Bloomingdale's many entrances/exits. The space(s) also have counters by and away from the floor-to-ceiling windows, with oddly kitschy artistic flourishes and the surprise of plastic flower planters.

We were served some tasty cheese popovers while we perused the menu, deciding on a stake of waffles with apples for her, and the pastrami(-cured) smoked salmon eggs benedict. Marita ordered a side of bacon and an over easy egg as well, as she wanted to enjoy both sweet and savory flavors.

Her waffles were flavorful, properly slightly crispy on its edges, and airy yet fluffy enough to hold up to chopped apples, fresh berries, maple syrup, and whipped cream. My salmon, cured with pastrami seasonings, was likewise tasty, topped by poached eggs with near perfect warm, silky, runny yolks.

The home fries that came with my eggs benedict were pleasantly serviceable as well. And as satisfying as the whole meal was—both Marita and I had not eaten since early the night before—it never really excelled beyond other city brunches I've had. Tasty and filling, but little else. (Their idea of "creative" is a 4-inch thick stuffed French toast.)

And at the prices they're asking their diners to pay (I could've made my whole dish—better!—for 3 or people for what it cost), we quickly realized that, much like most restaurants in this neighborhood, you're paying more for the name and the real estate. The affluent people who eat here do so with the same routine as most blue collar people grab an morning egg sandwich and coffee.

Ultimately, though, the experience did leave me with a excitingly positive outcome. Thanks to asking my friends on Facebook for brunch recommendations, I've learned of a relative new place called Penelope, that many of these friends raved about, and which is now now officially on my to-do-sooner-than-later list.