Since The New French first came on my radar via pleasantly-surprised, upbeat reviews such as this one in New York Magazine and this one in the New York Sun (both have far superior photos of the interior), I have been very, very curious.
Turns out, with very good reason: Absolutely everything about The New French is just right, right down to the quirky, playful character doodles by Maria Kalman that populate a mural on one wall and sneak onto other materials, such as the paper placemats and menus.
The New French is as serious about its food as Kalman is playful in her drawing (which is not to imply that there isn’t an element of play in The New French’s food, or that Kalman isn’t a serious artist. Both swing both ways). From start to finish, the meal I had here vaulted The New French straight into Tier One brunch territory. It went something like this:
The first thing I noticed when I sat down was the bowl of rough-cut sugar cubes, which I absolutely adore. Inspired, I ordered a latte. What showed up a few minutes later (along with a 4-minute egg timer by which to judge when my friend’s French pressed coffee was ready to be pressed) — what showed up a few minutes later was one of the best lattes I’ve ever had: Frothy, creamy, a bold espresso flavor, but not so bitter that it made me wince, temperature hot but not scalding.
I’m an occasional coffee drinker, not a habitual one, but this latte was something really special. It would have paired absolutely perfectly with the toasted baguette, served with jam and butter ($3.50, not pictured), that I ordered, but showed up with the food with strawberry preserves and cold butter — a pet peeve of mine. Very minor details.
Anyhow, when my steak and eggs ($12.50) arrived, my first impression was: What a gorgeous salad! This was no afterthought side salad, like the petite pile of greens mounded on so many brunch plates; no, this salad of vibrant mesculn greens tossed in a French-style vinaigrette with ultra-thin slices yellow and red beets was a key player.
Proportion, on a whole, was perfect; I hate when a flat wasteland of homefries/toast/other carbohydrates completely dominate the plate. Here, the plate was shared agreeably between the salad, two fried eggs, over medium, which were laid on a bed of chopped, homefry-style potatoes — that were oh so much better than your average breakfast potatoes, being fried up with slivers of garlic and diced spring onions.
And then, of course, there’s the matter of the steak. Initially, I expected to see a larger cut, or at least not simply six slices laid on top of my eggs, but in actuality, it made my job eating easier, the presentation was gorgeous, and the steak seasoned so well that all it didn’t need any salt or pepper. As a habitual salt-and-pepper shaker, I wasn’t even distressed that the table didn’t have shakers on the table, the food was that good.
Don’t wait a year-and-a-half to get over there; I certainly won’t.