F-Bombs at Shopsin's

JB: have you eaten at shopsin's in the essex st mkt yet?
Me: NO! que es?
JB: oh my god. i just ate there.
Me: good, eh?

I don't want to ruin JB's narrative below with what came next, but I immediately responded with, "WRITE IT UP!" I introduce my new dining out correspondent, JB. And the first chance I have to eat breakfast out, I'm going:

My friend called me at about 11:30 this morning and suggested we meet for some brunch. I jumped at the idea. My laziness has reached the point where I don't even feel like ordering from Fresh Direct. He said there was a small place in the back of the Essex St. Market called Shopsin's. Given its proximity to my apartment across the street, I jumped at the chance.

Nestled right behind Cheesemongers, this extremely small eatery is something of a treasure in the city. It has a counter that seats three, and maybe room for 10 more people in the alcove and surrounding area. The counter lets you see into the kitchen, which looks like something out of a movie. Subtle decorations adorned the walls, as though someone needed a place to put stuff, and that's where it ended up. A package of GE light bulbs is on display and printed on the package is "Parties of more than 4 will not be served." A marijuana home test kit sits prominently at eye level. A "Bacon Scarf" is $35, but the sign is fairly small, and unless you were really looking around, it could have easily been missed (no clue what a Bacon Scarf is either).

The CD player was running Ella Fitzgerald at a perfect volume -- just quiet enough to talk over and just loud enough to suck you in at the good parts. We sat at the counter and the waiter immediately handed us two menus. I was totally overwhelmed. The two-sided menu had at least 65 things on both the front and back. Despite violating one of my first rules of dining (never eat at a place with a large menu as it usually means the place is mediocre across many genres and good at nothing, think Cheesecake Factory), every single thing on the menu sounded delicious.

After looking it over for at least 10 minutes, the large chef (dubbed "the profane prince of the New York short-order world" by New York Magazine), who, just seconds before asked his son, "Where is the f**cking pan you just used?" walked out to take our order. He was very friendly and upon my ordering the "Blisters on my Sisters" asked, "On a scale of 1-10, how hot would you like it?"

My buddy and I waited about 15 minutes when the waiter walked out with a silver skillet and placed it on the counter about a foot and a half from where I'd be able to eat from it.

"Be careful," he said. "That is hot as s---."

He was right. "Blisters on my Sisters" was a corn tortilla base of rice and beans, with about three fried eggs over that, covered with cheese and some kind of sauce, on top of which I put some homemade hot sauce, which was also tasty. The waiter said he goes through a water bottle of it a week at home.

The food was amazing. I ate until I was full and kept going. All the while enjoying the chatter from the cook and wait staff. I heard the "c" word uttered five times during my meal.

At one point the cook came out to take an order, and when the female patron asked which dish was better, he replied "Maybe you should go somewhere else." The look on the girl's face was priceless.

"Those are two totally different meals. One is Indian and one is Mexican, if you don't know which one you want, you are f---ed up."

That is a direct quote.

It was a pricey $29 breakfast, even though I had one of the least expensive items on the menu. But when you count the experience of sitting there, it's worth it. I got the feeling I was in the Milk and Honey of breakfast spots, except the staff wasn't as cordial. I cannot recommend this little spot highly enough. Just go in with a thick skin and know what you want to order before he asks!

120 Essex St., near Rivington St.