All ridiculous kidding aside, there's one cozy D.C. cafe I keep returning to over and over again for brunch, regardless of season, company or hangover status: La Fourchette, the little taste of Paris that's been an Adams Morgan stalwart for more than 30 years.
And the best way to describe the digs? Frenchy french french french frahnche frahnche frahnche ronh honh honh.
(That might have been moderately culturally insensitive. French people, are you offended?)
I was first turned on to La Fourchette when my very best girlfriend Alyssa suggested it as a place to take my mother way back in 2008. The place doesn't look like much from the outside:
|Especially at this moment in time, as 18th Street is currently torn to shit |
from top to bottom for road construction.
But once inside, the brick walls, dark wood tables and beautiful painted mural along the wall will make you feel transported to La Rive Gauche. And when you hear Jacqueline Chauvet, the cafe's matriarch, barking orders at her servers en francais, you'll start wondering why you left your beret at home.
And the brunch food? Oh, the food. La Fourchette has a selection of benedicts like none other in D.C. My personal favorite is the Neptune, which is smoked salmon eggs benedict atop a butter-soaked baguette served with fried potatoes, and which is what I ordered when I ate there for New Year's Day brunch with my gentleman caller. My gentleman caller ordered the Florentine, which is the poached eggs atop spinach with baked Swiss cheese and mornay sauce.
In both cases, the poached eggs were perfect. And I mean perfect. The yolk was just the right amount of thick and runny, and slowly oozed over the rest of our food when we cracked open the eggs with our forks.
Sadly, I do not have any pictures of our brunch fare -- I was too busy eating it. And just to illustrate how good the benedicts truly are, I absolutely adore my gentleman caller, but had he tried to swipe a morsel off my plate, I would have stabbed his hand with my fork. I would have stolen his keys, and subsequently his car (he drove us), and left him there while screaming all the foulest expletives in his direction.
This would not have been an overreaction; the benedicts are just that good.
On another sad note, the service, unfortunately, is also about as European as it gets. You'll sit there for ages waiting for your coffee to be refilled or your check to be delivered. But trust me -- the wait is worth it.