I know I’m no restaurant critic (and I have no desire to be one, at this point), but some friends insisted I talk about this one.

What an experience! The building is unmarked, grey, with the shades drawn. The only thing that says “Alinea” is the valet parking sign. Once the doors open, though, you’re quite sure you’re in the right place.

We walked down a red hallway with a sloping ceiling, giving it kind of an Alice in Wonderland effect. A door whooshed open just at the right moment, and the hostess knew exactly who we were and where we were going. Absolutely seamless.

Alinea does not take parties larger than 6, and they will not break a party of 8 into two tables. So my cousins went on a date night a few days before the rest of the gang: my mom, brothers, aunt and uncle. We were seated at a large round table by the window, and the service was absolutely impeccable. About halfway through the meal, we noticed that the servers had noticed that my brother is left-handed. They were placing his silverware at a different angle on the little pillow they used as a “tablecloth” for each of us, so that it was easier to pick up with his left hand!

The sommelier was both a character and really knowledgeable. They had a Lucien Crochet rosé—the same vineyard that bottled the white Sancerre we drank at Le Clos de la Violette in Aix five years ago—but, alas, they had just sold the last glass. The sommelier (who also acted as a waiter? Not sure what his title is) gave me a taste of something else and I ended up ordering an Austrian sparkling wine that was delightful.

Ok, you’re saying, enough about the set-up—tell us about the food! Everything was amazing. Although a lot of it was transformed through culinary wizardry, other ingredients were just incredibly pure versions of themselves: wonderfully tomato-ey tomatoes, tremendously lamb-y lamb, etc.

The first course was a pretty good indication that we were in for a treat. The menu says “English peas, iberico, sherry, honeydew.” What it means is: some kind of concoction that, on first bite, tasted like the best frozen pea I’ve ever had—I used to eat them straight from the freezer when I was little—with little capsules of sherry that burst on your tongue, burrata, a little ball of honeydew (that we mistook for a grape) and several other unidentifiable delicious things. The whole dish was startlingly cold (liquid nitrogen?) but melted pretty much immediately into creamy deliciousness.

“Lobster, lychee, gruyère, vanilla fragrance” turned out to be a definite highlight of the evening: a single incredible bite of something fried, skewered on a vanilla bean and served into a fantastical wire holder. The incredibly light tempura contained a succulent piece of lobster, melty gruyère, lychee (somewhere) and a hint of ginger, and the vanilla bean gave the whole thing a delicate scent. It definitely left us all wanting more. Imagine how great/insane it would be to buy the cookbook and curl up in front of the TV with a whole basket of these on a movie night! (OK, never happening…I don’t even know if that recipe is in the cookbook, for starters.)

“Tomatoes, pillow of fresh cut grass aroma” was also amazing. There were a variety of powders (red pepper, bread crumbs, Parmesan, tiny bits of balsamic onions) to accompany the heirloom tomatoes, with little fried things on top. Absolutely the best tomatoes I’ve had this summer, never mind the stuff that came with it! My brother, who disliked tomatoes violently for most of his life, said this was one of his favorite dishes of the evening.

After that, we were all presented with a lovely glass of a clear liquid that turned out to be a “distillation of Thai flavors”—salty cucumber and a whole bunch of other things that lingered on the palate to “prime” it for “pork belly, curry, cucumber, lime.” We made spring rolls, fashioned from the pretty rice paper centerpieces (there were flowers and herbs in the paper, and they were hanging from chopsticks for the early part of our meal). I’m not a fan of either coconut or curry, but once I tasted the pork belly that was cooked in those flavors, I stopped caring exactly what I was being served and just ate.

“King crab, rhubarb, lilac, fennel” was a three-part course in a lovely bespoke ceramic piece. On top, there was a chervil gelée with some buttermilk and lilac sorbet surrounded by a crab mousse. When the lid came off, there were three perfect little bites of crab, avocado and rhubarb with a mung bean salad and other delicious bits. Under that was a warm crab and rhubarb concoction in a cream sauce—amazing.

“Lamb, a reflection of Elysian Fields Farm” honors a supplier dating back to Chef Achatz’s days with Thomas Keller. The plate consisted of the best lamb I’ve ever had: a small bite folded onto a sprig of rosemary, with a creamy popcorn sauce and a tiny bite of breaded polenta that burst with butter and corn flavors. Oh, and panko-crusted, deep-fried saddle fat from the lamb, which is both brilliant and evil.

“Hot potato, cold potato, black truffle, butter” was another big favorite of mine. The dish arrived in a tiny wax bowl, with a number of items including a cube of butter and a potato ball topped with a generous slice of truffle skewered on a pin. We were instructed to pull the pin out of the bowl to drop the skewered items into the sauce below it, which turned out to be a chilled, rich truffled potato soup. We were instructed to eat it quickly—no hardship, as the dish was creamy and indulgent and delicious.

Following that, the table was reset with antique flatware and an ornate goblet. “Tournedo à la persane” is an Escoffier recipe, as it turns out: a piece of extraordinarily good meat on top of a grilled tomato (with a tiny basil leaf), a fried banana slice and a pepper stuffed with rice, all in a perfect Châteaubriand sauce. I can’t say I’ve ever eaten beef with banana before, and it’s a great combination. The dish was served with a bit of Callet wine (or housemade soda), which was a great pairing.

From here, we entered the realm of dessert. “Earl Grey, lemon, pine nut, caramelized white chocolate” didn’t look like a dessert at all: hunks of grey tea cookies, yellow frozen chocolate noodles, scoops of lemon curd that looked like egg yolks, and crisp candied pine nuts. Fantastic all around!

“Chocolate, coconut, menthol, hyssop” contained one of our favorite elements and one of our least favorite elements. The former would be a frozen chocolate mousse that had us all giggling on our first bite. It melted into a traditional mousse texture—really fun to eat, and tasty to boot! The latter would be the menthol, which was just too strong for us. I made the mistake of drinking the last of my sparking wine with the menthol, and it was an awful lot like swilling Robitussin.

Rounding out the evening was another dish that had us all giggling as we ate it: “Bubble gum, long pepper, hibiscus, crème fraîche” arrived horizontally in a hollow glass tube. We sucked it out of the tube (making unavoidable gross noises in the process) and the darned thing tasted just like bubble gum! Whatever the pink stuff was had tapioca balls, so you even ended up chewing it for a little while.

And there you have it—a complete roundup of our evening at Alinea. Truly memorable. I’m so glad we went!

I made another Blueberry Pie, which was beautiful. (It disappeared before I had a chance to confirm my suspicions about its flavor, but based on the anecdotal evidence, that was one fine pie!)

We’ve also been making loads and loads of blueberry loaves. I began by making muffins for some friends who were driving cross-country, but we quickly discovered that this recipe makes a mean loaf—caky, moist, studded with blueberries and topped with just the right amount of streusel (read: a lot!). The batch that’s currently making the house smell so very good is #5 in the last week or so. Did I mention that life is good?

Blueberry Loaf
adapted from Epicurious.com

You’ll need:
For batter
3/4 stick (6 tablespoons) unsalted butter
1/3 cup whole milk
1 whole large egg
1 large yolk
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
3/4 cup sugar
1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
3/4 teaspoon salt
2 cups fresh blueberries (12 oz)

For streusel
3 tablespoons cold unsalted butter, cut into bits
1/2 cup all-purpose flour
3 1/2 tablespoons sugar
cinnamon to taste (I put in enough to make the streusel change color)

Put oven rack in upper third of oven and preheat to 375°F. Generously spray two loaf pans with nonstick spray.

Melt butter in a small saucepan over moderately low heat, then remove from heat. Whisk in milk, then whisk in whole egg, yolk, and vanilla until combined well. Set aside.

Whisk together flour, sugar, baking powder, and salt in a bowl. Set aside.

Rub together all streusel ingredients in a bowl with your fingertips until crumbly. Set aside.

Stir wet ingredients into dry ingredients until just combined, then gently fold in the blueberries.

Pour batter into loaf pans and top with streusel. Bake until a tester comes out clean. (Start testing after 25 minutes.)

In the ensuing years, I’ve dumped McCormick for the freshly-ground Korintje variety from the Spice House, but my passion for cinnamon endures. You may have noticed that it’s a common theme in the recipes I’ve posted here.

So when I saw an episode of “Good Eats” featuring a recipe that didn’t require getting up at the crack of dawn, I began looking for an excuse to try my hand at one of the purest forms of cinnamon adoration: the breakfast baked good. I mean, it’s a hell of a way to start a day, right? The only problem: I’m one person, and the recipe makes a dozen sinful rolls.

A few weekends ago, I had some friends over for the weekend, and I decided that enough is enough. Even though there were only 3 of us, I made the darned cinnamon rolls. A girl can only wait so long! It worked out perfectly–I, the night owl, did the prep the night before, and my friends, who are morning people, took care of the final rise and the actual baking and frosting. Talk about teamwork.

The verdict? They were everything I hoped they would be. Truly things of beauty–and delicious, too. I could have eaten all 12 by myself, but showed uncharacteristic restraint.

I believe the only change we made to the original recipe was to double the cinnamon content. (In my household, a teaspoon means a tablespoon when cinnamon is involved!)

One of these days, I really should see if that essay is with my school papers.

Overnight Cinnamon Rolls
adapted from Alton Brown’s original masterpiece

You’ll need:
Dough:
4 large egg yolks, room temperature
1 large whole egg, room temperature
2 ounces sugar, approximately 1/4 cup
3 ounces butter, melted, approximately 6 tablespoons
6 ounces buttermilk, room temperature
20 ounces all-purpose flour, approximately 4 cups, plus additional for dusting
1 package instant dry yeast, approximately 2 1/4 teaspoons
1 1/4 teaspoons kosher salt
Vegetable oil or cooking spray

Filling:
8 ounces light brown sugar, approximately 1 cup packed
2 tablespoons ground cinnamon
Pinch salt
3/4-ounce unsalted butter, melted, approximately 1 1/2 tablespoons

Icing:
2 1/2 ounces cream cheese, softened, approximately 1/4 cup
3 tablespoons milk
5 1/2 ounces powdered sugar, approximately 1 1/2 cups

For the dough: in the bowl of a stand mixer with the whisk attachment, whisk the egg yolks, whole egg, sugar, butter, and buttermilk. Add approximately 2 cups of the flour along with the yeast and salt; whisk until moistened and combined. Remove the whisk attachment and replace with a dough hook. Add all but 3/4 cup of the remaining flour and knead on low speed for 5 minutes. Check the consistency of the dough, add more flour if necessary; the dough should feel soft and moist but not sticky. Knead on low speed 5 minutes more or until the dough clears the sides of the bowl. Turn the dough out onto a lightly floured work surface; knead by hand about 30 seconds. Lightly oil a large bowl. Transfer the dough to the bowl, lightly oil the top of the dough, cover and let double in volume, 2 to 2 1/2 hours.

Combine the brown sugar, cinnamon and salt in a medium bowl. Mix until well incorporated. Set aside until ready to use.

Butter a 9 by 13-inch glass baking dish. Turn the dough out onto a lightly floured work surface. Gently shape the dough into a rectangle with the long side nearest you. Roll into an 18 by 12-inch rectangle. Brush the dough with the 3/4-ounce of melted butter, leaving 1/2-inch border along the top edge. Sprinkle the filling mixture over the dough, leaving a 3/4-inch border along the top edge; gently press the filling into the dough. Beginning with the long edge nearest you, roll the dough into a tight cylinder. Firmly pinch the seam to seal and roll the cylinder seam side down. Very gently squeeze the cylinder to create even thickness. Using a serrated knife, slice the cylinder into 1 1/2-inch rolls; yielding 12 rolls. Arrange rolls cut side down in the baking dish; cover tightly with plastic wrap and store in the refrigerator overnight or up to 16 hours.

Remove the rolls from the refrigerator and place in an oven that is turned off. Fill a shallow pan 2/3-full of boiling water and set on the rack below the rolls. Close the oven door and let the rolls rise until they look slightly puffy; approximately 30 minutes. Remove the rolls and the shallow pan of water from the oven.

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F.

When the oven is ready, place the rolls on the middle rack and bake until golden brown, or until the internal temperature reaches 190 degrees F on an instant-read thermometer, approximately 30 minutes.

While the rolls are cooling slightly, make the icing by whisking the cream cheese in the bowl of a stand mixer until creamy. Add the milk and whisk until combined. Sift in the powdered sugar, and whisk until smooth. Spread over the rolls and serve immediately.

Aren’t they beautiful? These were for a friend who, upon tasting Candied Bacon Ice Cream, began dancing around my living room. He and his girlfriend were packing up their apartment this weekend, and I thought they might need some fuel. The “Zach has a happy” cookie was born. (Ok, and I really wanted to see if bacon cookies had potential. Turns out, the dancing is not limited to bacon in frozen form.)

I made the following changes to the recipe:

• First, I omitted a 1/4 cup of the granulated sugar in the cookie dough, because the bacon is sweet.
• As to the bacon, I unintentionally cooked it a bit less than I would have liked and, in hindsight, I’m glad I did. The fat was still soft and chewy, but it crisped up beautifully when baked with the cookies.
• To combine bacon and baked good: I chopped the bacon as I would for the ice cream. After I had scooped the cookies onto the baking sheet, I pressed a nice dollop (say, a four-fingered pinch) of bacon bits into each cookie.

I think my cookie scoop is larger than my mother’s, so I’d estimate I had enough bacon for 2-3 dozen cookies. I left a dozen cookies plain for the vegetarians in the crowd. Oddly, the bacon cookies tasted even better the next day than they did straight out of the oven.

In my defense, that there is tuna salad (one of the first things I ever learned to make by myself) on homemade bread. I finally got around to trying to “Artisan Bread in Five Minutes a Day” recipe my mother clipped from the newspaper for me while I lived in France. It took me five years to try making this bread, and I don’t know why. It’s quite easy, and very good. It didn’t rise as much as I thought it would, but that ended up making it perfect sandwich bread. I just sliced the loaf in half like a roll.

Next to it is homemade corn chowder, from a recipe that popped up in my blog feed a while back. It is very easily, not too sinful, and really satisfying. Certainly the best (well, and only) use for frozen corn kernels I’ve ever encountered.

In addition to that flurry of cooking, I indulged in some baking. After all, who wouldn’t want to celebrate a holiday that combines nerdy wordplay with baked goods?

I spend a lot of time at work reading food blogs (it’s part of my job, really!), and Momofuku Milk Bar Crack Pie has been popping up with increasing frequency. None of the descriptions adequately explained the popularity of a sweet that contains neither chocolate nor cinnamon. I just had to taste it for myself. Enter Pi Day, the ultimate excuse to bake.

It was really quite easy to make, though the cookie crust is an extra step. The pie is magnificent—sweet, gooey, buttery, vanilla-y, and yes, almost impossible to accurately describe. A palpable hit, and a recipe that I will definitely make again—provided that I have several people on hand to help me eat it. I have thus far avoided having partially-eaten pies in my refrigerator overnight, and at 20-odd grams of fat per slice, it needs to stay that way. (Oh, LA Times, why did you have to include the nutritional information? In cases like this, I prefer blissful ignorance.)

And the requisite blurry cell phone cross-section, because I was too busy eating and trying to sneak leftovers into my friends’ pockets to photograph at home:

In short, last weekend was great. I could very happily spend every weekend making two different soups (the other one wasn’t as good), homemade bread, and insane desserts.

Guys? I’ll be making a different kind of brownies for you this summer. They’re almost as easy as the mix, and they’re ridiculously fudgy. And, oh yeah, they have a layer of Reese’s Cups baked into them.

Reese’s Brownies
adapted from epicurious and inspired by April Rouleau’s York Peppermint Patty brownies

You’ll need:
7½ oz bittersweet or semisweet chocolate, chopped
2¼ sticks butter
3 oz unsweetened chocolate, chopped
3 cups sugar
6 eggs
3 t vanilla extract
⅜ t salt
1½ cups flour
24 Reese’s cups

1. Melt 5 oz bittersweet chocolate, 1 1/2 sticks butter and 2 oz unsweetened chocolate in a double-boiler.
2. Whisk 2 cups sugar, 4 eggs, 2 t vanilla and 1/4 t salt in a large bowl until fluffy.
3. Stir in melted chocolate mixture.
4. Mix in 1 cup flour.
5. Pour into a 13×9″ greased pan.
6. Arrange Reese’s cups over batter, pressing them in slightly.
7. Repeat steps 1-3 with 2 1/2 oz bittersweet chocolate, 6 T butter, 1 oz unsweetened chocolate, 1 cup sugar, 2 eggs, 1 t vanilla, 1/8 t salt.
8. Pour batter over Reese’s cups and spread.
9. Bake until tester inserted into center comes out with moist crumbs attached. Start testing after 35 minutes.

Note: These make great cupcakes, too. The amounts described in step 1 will make about 20 standard-sized cupcakes. I put two Reese’s quarters in each cupcake.

I was intrigued to find a Shrimp Bisque thickened with rice instead of cream in the New York Times this week, and I just happened to have a big bag of shrimp in my freezer. The result? Delicious, easy, fairly quick–and a one-pot meal!

Shrimp Bisque
adapted from the New York Times

You’ll need:
1 pound medium or large uncooked shrimp, shelled and deveined, shells reserved
6 T butter
1 1/2 t kosher salt
2/3 cup plus 2 T dry white wine
6 cups water
3 thyme sprigs
1 bay leaf
3 celery ribs, chopped
3 large leeks, white and light green parts only, chopped
2 garlic cloves, chopped
1/2 fennel bulb, chopped
2 large shallots, chopped
2 small onions, chopped
1/4 cup long-grain rice
2 T tomato paste
juice of 1 lemon

In a large pot over high heat, cook shrimp shells in 1 T butter and 1/4 t salt, stirring frequently, until lightly browned in spots. Add wine and boil until most of the liquid has evaporated. (Right about now, your kitchen will smell pretty incredible.) Add water, thyme and bay leaf and simmer, uncovered for 15 minutes or until everything else is chopped and prepped. Mine went a bit longer. Strain shrimp stock into a bowl, pressing on shells before discarding them.

In same pot, melt 2 T butter with 1/4 t salt. Add shrimp and sauté until they are pink, 2 to 4 minutes depending on size. Using a slotted spoon, put the shrimp in with the stock.

Add remaining 3 T butter to pot along with celery, leeks, garlic, fennel, shallots and onions and sauté until softened, about 5 minutes. Stir in the rice, tomato paste and remaining salt and sauté for 2 additional minutes.

Add shrimp stock, being careful to keep the shrimp in the other bowl, and simmer, covered, until rice is tender (20 minutes).

Cut shrimp into chunks and add to bisque. Purée using your preferred method. I used an immersion blender, and thus I ended up with a slightly chunky bisque with the consistency of applesauce. A real blender might yield a smoother soup.

See, doesn’t it look like applesauce? Return the soup to the pot, if you used a blender, and stir in the lemon juice. At this point, I couldn’t tell there was any acid in it. I was tempted to throw in some extra salt and white pepper, but I didn’t. Good thing, too–the next day, the soup was perfect: shrimpy, warm and comforting.

I’ll definitely be making this one again.

I also broke out my new camera to photograph the baked goods I had on hand: David Leite’s Chocolate Chip Cookies and my grandfather’s zucchini bread.

I’m trying a new recipe format. Without further ado: David Leite’s Chocolate Chip Cookies
Zucchini Bread

After all of that, only two people showed up. (One of them brought delicious fudge!) So, if my brothers are reading this, heads up! You should have a care package coming your way soon.

I’ve been baking up a storm lately, and it is so much fun! I feel like I haven’t really baked in years, but I know that can’t be true.

First I whipped up more than a gross of Krispies (like a very vanilla-y chocolate chip cookie, but with Crunch bar bits and Rice Krispies instead of chocolate chips). This took a few days, but I got into a rhythm and it went by very quickly. I think I like baking because of the rhythm: just follow the instructions and all will be well. (Ok, the end result might have a tiny bit to do with my attraction to baking over cooking.)

Since I sent all those cookies out, I’ve been feeling the itch to bake again. Plus, I found cinnamon chips for sale at the grocery store, and I just have to try those! My mother finally consented to once again having baked goods in the house.

So right now the kitchen smells delicious. I took my old standby oatmeal chocolate chip cookie and made two substitutions:
1. cinnamon chips for chocolate. Generally speaking, I never EVER substitute for chocolate, but I’m a cinnamon fiend. Plus, I want to find out if these cinnamon chips are worth stocking up on.
2. pumpkin pie spice from the Spice House for cinnamon. My mother’s house usually contains a ridiculous amount of cinnamon, but not so today!

The verdict? They’re ridiculously tasty–chewy and spicy!

Vanishing Oatmeal Cinnamon Cookies
adapted from an adaptation of the Quaker Oats box classic

1 cup butter, softened
1 cup firmly packed brown sugar
1/2 cup granulated sugar
2 eggs
1 tsp vanilla
1 1/2 cups flour
1 tsp baking soda
2 tsp pumpkin pie spice, preferably from The Spice House
1/2 tsp salt
3 cups old-fashioned rolled oats
1 package cinnamon chips

1. Blend flour, baking soda, spices and salt and set aside.
2. Beat together butter and sugars until creamy.
3. Add eggs and vanilla; beat well.
4. Add dry ingredients and mix well.
5. Stir in oats and chips.
6. Drop by rounded tablespoonfuls onto an ungreased cookie sheet.
7. Bake at 350º 13-15 minutes or until golden brown.
8. Eat!

The only problem? I was told to make a small quantity, and now I’ve got 4 1/2 dozen cookies on my hands.

I was lucky enough to have brunch twice this weekend, but sadly neither experience was particularly civilized.

The first brunch was at Orange, a trendy little place around the corner from my apartment. Orange seems to consciously differentiate itself from your average diner. I mean, a brunch place that won’t let you build your own omelette? The words “mousse” and “infused” appear often on the menu–too often, in the latter’s case. I usually have poached eggs there, probably as a subconscious act of rebellion to the omelette hegemony. The eggs are always tasty and perfectly cooked. The potatoes that come with them taste like they’re at least 50% butter–I usually try (and fail) not to eat the whole serving.

I’ve never been to Orange during the weekend before, and the experience is much more pleasant during the workweek, when things are slower. The kicker was when a busboy asked if he could clear my plate after I had literally taken one bite of my breakfast. Um, no!

But even that lapse in service looked great compared to my brunch at Sarks in the Park yesterday. Right across the street from Orange, this little storefront in the basement courtyard of a big apartment building bills its fare as the “world’s best breakfast.”

It was quite busy when my friend M and I arrive there a little after noon. So busy, in fact, that the only available outdoor table had no chairs. We asked if we could sit there, and were told that it was a bus station. Since gorgeous, warm, sunny days in late October are a rarity, we decided to wait for an outside table.

While we were waiting, a less polite couple put chairs at the bus table and were promptly served. Irksome, to say the least. The waitress looked quite uncomfortable about the situation.

Another group got up shortly thereafter, and we immediately moved in to occupy their table. After five minutes or so, we asked the waitstaff to clear the previous occupants’ food and other debris from the table. Then we were finally given menus.

Given the breakfast-centric motto, I was surprised to see that only a quarter of the single-page menu was devoted to, well, breakfast. (As a clear sign that a very strange symptom is sweeping Lincoln Park breakfast joints, Sarks does not offer a build-your-own omelette, though to its credit it doesn’t have a large note saying that custom omelettes are impossible, unlike its swanky across-the-street neighbor.) I decided on a bacon and cheese (only two choices: American and “white.” I didn’t specify and got the former) egg white omelette. I passed on the hash browns, since I assumed it would be an extra charge and I don’t need them. I was expecting to receive a plate with just an omelette on it, and I was fine with that.

I should pause here to say that my dining companion is a picky eater. M really does not like tomatoes, she’s vegetarian, and she’s generally conservative about what she’ll eat. So when she ordered the veggie quesadilla, M took care to ask for no tomatoes.

It felt like an eternity between the time we ordered and the arrival of our food. We spent almost two hours at the restaurant, and most of it was during this lull. The golden moment was somewhat tarnished, though. M’s plate had an inexplicable garnish of plain, chopped romaine lettuce, a thimble-sized cup of salsa, and three tacos…which contained tomatoes. She sent it back.

When her plate next appeared, the tacos were tomato-less. Bizarrely, though, the kitchen had decided to augment the strange romaine garnish with a giant scoop of…wait for it…chopped tomatoes. M was really hungry by this point, so she didn’t send it back again. I ask you, what must have been going through the mind of the person who added the chopped tomatoes to the dish that came back because it had tomatoes? The world may never know.

Unfortunately, after all that, M didn’t really like the quesadillas. Their veggie mix included broccoli, which wasn’t listed on the menu and is kind of a strange filling for a quesadilla.

That said, my omelette was really quite good, though the pieces of bacon were larger and fattier than I had anticipated. The dish was not empty, as I predicted, but instead had a very large helping of very good hash browns and toast, in the form of pressed Cuban bread. Any kind of grilled bread is usually delicious, but this could have done with some salt. (I was glad it was kind of flavorless, because I wasn’t tempted to eat it. I already had my fill of sin between the bacon and the scrumptious hash browns I didn’t order.)

It’s a shame the service was so slow, because the breakfast food actually was very good. Clearly, though, communication could do with some general improvements at Sarks in the Park.