Breakfast in America

My family and I had to go up to JFK early yesterday morning, and my dad suggested that we stop and have some brunch in New York City on the way back home. My brother and I agreed, provided that we were back home in time to watch the World Cup Final (which was unfortunately really underwhelming).

We met a close family friend of ours in the Upper East Side, and he guided us to Baker Street Pub, an Irish-influenced restaurant on the corner of 63rd and 1st. I glanced at the menu posted outside, but wasn't particularly impressed by anything they had to offer. I was in the mood for breakfast food (when am I not?) and while this place serves "Irish Breakfast" all day, I found the idea of Irish bacon to be wholly unappealing.

But I didn't want to be fussy (I can nearly always find something to eat, anywhere), so I nodded my agreement of the choice and walked in.

The pub was completely decked out in soccer paraphernalia, which I assumed to be present because of the Cup, but photographs on their website prove that the decorations are a mainstay of the establishment.

The lighting overall seemed to be consistent with that of a dive bar—annoyingly dim. There's ambience, and then there's near-dark.

Plus, the sun was happily shining in through the front windows and it just seemed wrong to be sitting in such a gloomy place on such a bright and gorgeous day.

Another look at the menu effectively smothered all the lovely visions of belgian waffles, eggs, and pancakes that had been dancing around in my head for the past few hours.

Then my eyes landed on a glorious sight—the sides on sandwiches and paninis included the option of sweet potato fries.

For that reason alone, I perused that portion of the menu. Once again, I found very few of these options appealing, but I finally settled on the chicken wrap, without the sundried tomato mayo, as I dislike most condiments/spreads.

But sweet potato fries! What did it matter how the rest of the meal tasted?

The wrap itself was merely satisfactory; the chicken was slightly dry and the caramelized onions were dripping vinegar everywhere, making for a messier dining experience than I would have liked.

But the sweet potato fries were just as amazing as I hoped they would be. Despite their being relatively easy to make, I haven't had them in over two years, back when I made them in Jamaica.

So overall: semi-decent meal, but incredible fries. I showered them in salt and pepper (as I do with just about everything) and went to town.

And picking the sweet potatoes was a smart choice, too, because the regular fries (which my dad and brother got) were not good.

I don't anticipate ever returning to this place (at least not of my own accord), but if I do: sweet potato fries might have to be my entire meal.