Essex

Fashionista invited me to brunch at Essex with her friend Ms. Q. Despite having weekends off for almost five months, I can only count on one hand the number of times I've been out for a Sunday brunch.

What's up with that?

Last Sunday I had brunch overlooking the golf course at the Greenwich Country Club after my friend’s wedding, but that doesn’t count; the weekend before that I was in Lake George with Hawkeye and we skipped brunch for a drive-thru snack at McDonald’s; the weekend before that I had BermudaBabe’s bridal shower in Greenwich filled with gifts, flowers and mimosas; the weekend before that I had the bachelorette extravaganza in Montauk; and the weekend before that my friends had to drag me kicking and screaming to rehydrate/refuel myself in preps for another long day of heavy drinking in Dewey Beach for Memorial Day weekend.

I just gave myself a headache reliving all these wild weekends, but you get the picture. My jammin’ June has finally come to an end and I’m looking forward to devoting less nights to summer boozing and more to summer writing.

We showed up at Essex and I think we missed the mark by about a half an hour. The entrance was spacious and sparse when we walked in, but minute by minute it started to feel like standing room only at “Spring Awakening.” We probably waited a good half an hour to 45 minutes and when we did sit down we landed at one of the tables with our backs to the bar crowd – not my cup of joe.

Essex felt to me like a small boy does when he puts on daddy’s extra large suit. Essex is swimming in a space that’s too big for its own good. The empty space in the front and around the bar lends itself to lots of people awkwardly milling about waiting for tables. And then when your lucky name is called to sit down at one you’re packed in and left inhaling your neighbor's morning coffee breath.

Fashionista, Ms. Q and I sat down at a small corner table and I had my back to the boisterous brunch crew. I felt like mimosas, eggs and hash browns were going to land in my hair or lap every time a server flew past me to bring food to the tables around us. If someone gave me a dime for every time I ducked or flinched it would have paid for our brunch that morning.

Despite the hungry mob scene and the stress this puts on a wait staff, everyone who worked there was extremely friendly, or high on Xanax. Our waitress was extremely giddy that morning and took great care of us. At Essex you’re supposed to get three free cocktails (Bloody Marys, mimosas or screwdrivers) with your brunch order for a grand total of $16. Well, this sounded like a great deal, but it became an even better deal when three mimosas turned into bottomless mimosas.

When we received the little bagel loaves seen below I was super excited, until I felt it was stone cold and stiff as a Starbucks bagel. I thought they might be warm, fresh and crispy, or at most a few minutes out of the oven. Had I not been starving I wouldn't have eaten the whole thing. Afterwards I just felt it was a waste of calories.

For my main meal I ordered the omelette with spinach, tomatoes, sheep's milk and chives. It was surprisingly warm and fresh, and perfectly cooked, as were the potatoes, though they weren't as hot as I'd like -- they got ice cold really quickly. That's the only problem when you go to a brunch factory. The chefs in the back are churning the potatoes out and it's hard -- trust me I know from experience-- to time it right so the customers get their breakfast hot.


Fashionista tried the Manchego macaroni and cheese with chicken-apple sausage and Ms. Q ordered the lobster Benedict. The macaroni was really cheesy, thought the top wasn't crispy enough. The sausage was excellent.

I didn't get to snag any of Ms. Q's lobster, but from the silence coming from across the table, she liked it. Until this past weekend, I was opposed to Benedict because Hollandaise sauce scared me. I learned if you order it on the side and self-dip your egg mix into the Hollandaise it is so much better than it being smothered in sauce.


I ordered a potato pancake for the table, because the last time I had one at Mo Pitkin's I was in heaven. I'm a sucker for all versions of a fried potato. This was my second favorite thing of the whole brunch.


Our meal was good enough, good enough to start a Sunday spring afternoon, but I won't be hurrying back to Essex. I wasn't crazy about the atmosphere and the food was mediocre. When we got our bill and put down our cards to split the bill our waitress told us it was cash only. She repeated that brunch was cash only. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Fashionista, Ms. Q and myself walked around the rest of the day together exploring parts of the East Village I'm unfamiliar with. We discovered some cute boutiques and the trees on this beautiful street below. With full stomachs and a mimosa high, we felt truly lucky to call this city our home. I've been away for so many weekends, it's time I start reacquainting myself with my city, so I feel less like a stranger when I return.

120 Essex St., at Rivington
(212) 533-9616