Public: Sunday Fun Day

Several of us received an e-mail from Young'un about his birthday brunch at Public, yet somehow I was the only one who was called out in it:

"As some of you know (especially if you are a real Facebook stalker) I am turning 25 next Saturday (I know that Mona can barely remember her 25th that happened somewhere around 15 years ago)."

I swim with Young'un at NYAC, and somewhere along the line, we started relentlessly teasing each other about our age discrepancy, despite it only being a few years. More than once I've been called "grandma" and I'm happy to say on Young'un's birthday, I rubbed it in his face that he was finally of age to rent a car. Young'un was a Harvard swimmer, of the sprinter variety, like Swimster. His older brother Special K swam with Swimster and my other good buds OakGal, Warrior and Explorer.

I confirmed Public was wheelchair accessible for this grandma and RSVP-ed a big "Yes" to the festivities. I had heard of Public for ages and was dying to try it. From the sounds of Young'un's e-mail plan to consume "several drinks at bars to be determined," it was going to be a wild and crazy day. And so the concept of Sunday Fun Day was born. Sunday Fun Day can be defined as the brunch through dinner partying that takes place on any given Sunday. It involves drinking at brunch, followed by drinking at bars, followed by dinner and maybe even drinks after, for the real ironmen. There is no going home in the middle of a Sunday Fun Day, or the spirit of the day is broken. Sunday Fun Day was taken to a whole new level that Sunday because it was a three-day weekend. Most of the party had President's Day off so folks were especially rowdy. I, however, had to work and just prayed to the Man that it would be a slow news day and I would be able to handle what I hoped would be a lighter than usual work flow.

I arrived at Public a few minutes late from my workout. I made sure to get a run and swim in before my marathon Sunday. We had our championships that following weekend and I didn't want to completely throw away the season. That, and I at least wanted to feel like I deserved some of the good food I was about to consume.

I made the mistake of walking in, yet again, via the wrong entrance. I somehow couldn't decipher between the "Loading Dock" and "Entrance" signs and walked into a table of four eating their brunch.

"Wrong door!" they all shouted as they scooped up their eggs and bacon.

"It would appear that way..." I thought to myself as I let out a half-ass laugh and flew back down the stairs to the other entrance. My face was as red as my pashmina.

I had better luck through the next door. I walked in and noticed my friends gathering behind a sheer white curtain that hung past the host stand. I said a quick "Hello!" to the greeters and waltzed right into what I later learned was the Wine Room.

It was as if we had our own private banquet hall. The table looked like it could seat at least 20 people. There were menus dispersed throughout and table settings for all. A server came by and asked me what I'd prefer to drink: a passion fruit or regular mimosa or a bloody Mary. I gave into peer pressure and went with the passion fruit mimosa. It didn't taste much different from a regular mimosa though it was a little bitter. After two of those, I graduated to a bloody Mary. The bloody Mary was spot on-- spicy, peppery and loaded with all the appropriate trimmings.

We all hung out in clusters at different corners of the table before someone made the executive decision to sit down. I'm not sure, but I think I was already at least two drinks deep. Our server was relentless! You'd barely finished one and he was on his way with your next. As we took our seats, we politely exchanged niceties with our table neighbors. Everybody spotted the delicious plates of scones in front of us but nobody wanted to be the first to go in. It was like Pandora's Box--once one went they ALL went.

As you all know, I'm somewhat of a scone snob. I take my scones very seriously and like my Dad judges Italian restaurants on their bread, I judge a breakfast/brunch place by its scones. Public's scones are now my third favorite scone in the city, to Balthazar and Petak's. There were currant scones, scones with cheddar and corn bread with jalapeno. Each just whet my appetite for what was to come.

Before we each got our own dishes we received this brunch surprise -- a little bowl of fresh fruit with a dollop of sweet tahini yogurt. It reminded me of Italian desserts with mascarpone but the yogurt wasn't nearly as rich. It cleansed my palate.

Shortly after we licked our fruit plates clean, we were surrounded by yummy brunch entrees:

scrambled eggs on sour dough with bacon and buttered mushrooms...

banana-stuffed French toast with bacon and maple syrup...

venison burger with cassava chips (or fries)...

grilled chorizo in the middle for everyone to share...

and finally, salmon, spinach, poached eggs and hollandaise on toasted sourdough bread.


I died and went to heaven that morning. I've never been so impressed with everything that came out to the table than I was at Public, and lately I've eaten a few mediocre brunches.

I glanced up from my meal, tried to steal one of Special K's cassava fries, and noticed that everyone was getting their post-brunch glow on. The end of the table was especially bright where Special K and Young'un's parents were seated, basking in the glow of their sons' and their friends' company. I was happy to be a part of that morning (and even happier I had decided to spend my Saturday night on the couch with water and a movie). I got a few laughs as I tried to snap pictures of everyone's meals -- not all the dudes knew me or about my blog-- so this was a small challenge.

A few people backed me up.

"No! Don't touch! Mona's got to take a --"

"What?"

"Put your fork down. This picture is making Internet history," I'd chime in, before explaining the concept of my blog.

My favorite/new-to-me item on the table was by far the cassava fries. I'd never even heard of the word cassava before. Now I'm determined to not only return to Public to inhale them again, but to seek them out at all future New York City dining venues. If you know a place that serves them, pass it along.

I was looking at Public's Web site tonight, to get a feel for what it offers for dinner, and I've since fallen in love with Public's head chef Brad Farmerie. I'm not sure what intrigues me more, that he went to college to become an engineer before he hightailed it to London to learn to cook, or the fact that he seems as similarly obsessed with Australia and New Zealand as I am. All aside, the guy's doing something right.

New York Magazine once called Public's fare "free-spirited fusion," and Public has since adopted that saying. If you go to its FAQ section on its Site and click on "What kind of food does Public serve?" The response? "Free-spirited fusion." Maybe that's why I liked it so much. If someone asked me how I'd describe myself, I'd say, "free-spirited fusion."

The rest of the day was a blurry blitzkrieg. Here was our itinerary:

12-2ish: Public
2-4ish: Zum Schneider's-- this seems to be popping up in my weekend routine quite frequently, as do its extra large steins of beer
4ish-6ish: Horseshoe Bar, where we proceeded to play a seated flip cup tourney, even with parents present
6ish-7ish: dinner, AKA 2nd round of food out in one day, at Katz's Deli, hereby cementing Young'un's birthday as a true Sunday Fun Day
7ish-midnight: dancing at Pianos with the last, strongest ladies/men standing (sadly there were only a few)

All good things come to an end. The circus shut down early Monday morning and I had to be Ms. Productive on a mere few hours of sleep. I made it through the day, thankfully, and was already thinking about what I could come up with for the next Sunday Fun Day.

210 Elizabeth St., between Prince and Spring
212-343-7011