Les Halles Brasserie

Swimster and I were walking around trying to find a breakfast place in his neighborhood. I would have gone to Friend of a Farmer had I known it was going to be so difficult. There were a couple places we'd already tried but I was on the hunt for a new place. I would have been happy stopping in the diner the Police Academy kids frequent but "diner" was not in Swimster's vocabulary that morning.

We eventually stumbled upon Brasserie Les Halles, and since we're both fans of Anthony Bourdain we decided to give it a try.

There was a small cluster of forlorn-looking staff huddled around the front podium, with tired faces wishing they weren't at work so early on a Saturday morning. We were the third party eating breakfast and luckily the host gave us a window seat.

We hadn't even put our bags down when the server asked us what we wanted to drink. Please. My scarf is in a knot. My hat is stuck in my hair. My gloves are still on and I'm wearing three layers of jackets. I just want to take them off and sit down before I'm being asked about drinks. When we did sit down, I wished she had let me look at the menu as something called the "Les Halles morning cocktail" caught my eye: a trio of freshly squeezed orange and grapefruit juices with a splash of cranberry juice.

The menu was divided into two sections: an American breakfast section and a petit dejeuner parisien section. Unfortunately, nothing in either of the sections was really jumping out at me. I remember the croissants in Paris were always delicious but not enough to really fill me until lunchtime. And even the American choices were not all that impressive. Perhaps instead of worrying about giving the diner the choice of picking between the two, just make enough authentic French choices that will blow them away and make them happy they walked in.

Swimster asked for the steak and eggs and I chose the crepes. And we waited for a good half hour for them to show up. Thank goodness I had some of Swimster's coffee to hold me over, or so I thought. They served the coffee in an individual coffee cup maker and at first it seemed like a convenient and practical device. Only once it sits for five minutes the container and its contents become cold, like the last shower in the morning of a family of four. I should have hopped across the street to Starbucks for a hot cup o' joe. As we continued to wait, I wondered if they were waiting for Bourdain to get back from his trip to Iceland before they cooked our food.

The entrees finally came and they looked tired, tired of sitting on the kitchen counter ready to come out to us. But someone neglected them. That or the chefs weren't too keen on timing that morning.

I cut into my crepes and was disappointed with the first bite of the nutella one. ( I chose two sugar crepes and one nutella one.) Whenever I ordered crepes in France with nutella the nutella melted into a nice thin layer of chocolate, like you'd find sitting atop a sundae. This nutella was thick, barely hot, and had the consistency of peanut butter. If I'm eating a nutella sandwich (which I did every day for two years when I lived in France) that's great. But no thank you in a crepe. I was almost afraid to move on to the other two after this sad start. And when I bit into the second one my fear was justified. I assumed I would be getting a crepe with confectioners sugar and butter. Well they put granulated sugar in their crepes and with every bite it felt like I was eating sand. Maybe Bourdain shouldn't have quit his day job to go off on his culinary adventure "No Reservations." His restaurant might not be suffering so...

Swimster's steak and eggs looked edible. The eggs were the freshest thing on the plate and cooked to his liking. The steak was lukewarm and the potatoes were room temperature. Could things get any worse?

Since I was so bummed with my breakfast choice, and never have the gall to send things back to the kitchen, I decided to give Les Halles one more chance and ordered a croissant. La piece de resistance. The croissant was flaky, buttery, and right out of the oven. Thank goodness something made me happy.

I really wanted to like this restaurant. Not only because of its famous chef and kitchen personality, but for its interior charm as well. It had the dark cherry wood, the glass dividers, and the tall ceilings that made it feel like a slightly oversized French bistro. But the atmosphere is wheeling and dealing to overcompensate for the lack of taste/care put into the food.

No apples for Les Halles. Take me to Balthazar.

411 Park Ave South, between 28th and 29th St.
212-679-4111