Bobo

It seems inevitable that whenever I am in New York for the weekend, I just have to hit up a dining establishment for brunch. I fancy myself Carrie from SATC, weekend brunching with her ladies, all in fabulous outfits.

But reality is I'm not Carrie. NYC or not, I most likely do not have a fancy outfit on (it was freezing in New York this particular trip and the LA/Singapore girl in me chose warmth over fashion. Although I will say I did love my over the knee boots I had on) and I definitely am not having any of that Sex In The City. But fancy outfits and sex aside, I was having brunch! Brunch with my friends Shu and Keith, brunch at bobo restaurant and brunch in the City.

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Located in a beautiful old brownstone in Greenwich Village, we discovered bobo through some "interwebs" researching and made reservations to brunch there Saturday morning.

Upon entering the restaurant via the conspicuously unmarked basement entrance (Faux Speakeasy anyone,) we walked right into bobo's subterranean bar area. The brunch vibe there was cool and young, very New York.

As I glanced around the room checking out the scene, I found myself feeling pretty pleased to be "weekend brunching" with the cool kids. However, instead of seating us with the young-uns, our hostess lead us right up a flight of rickety stairs to the main dining room, where we were surrounded by two groups of older patrons. WHAT?? Did we just get seated in the "adults" only boring room? Did we not make the cut? Could they tell I was not a New Yorker??

So there we were, with the oldies in the upstairs intimate (and intimate it was, as I found myself sitting way too close to the next table) dining room, surrounded by tastefully rummaged knickknacks (glass-bead chandeliers, old black and white "family" photos and a pastiche of mismatched “antiques.”) and a large scale hexagonal bookshelf stocked with random volumes and hardcovers.

Despite the chic décor that is meant to evoke a bourgeois bohemian’s dinner party, I didn't care too much for the dark antiquated effect the room had. It made me feel like I was eating in a rundown dirty house. I guess I just don't get the boho bourgeois look and feel.   

That, or I am still sore that we didn't get seated downstairs with all the popular kids. 

Food wise, bobo is a self-proclaimed farm-to-table eatery, which I am always for. After glancing through the brunch menu, I ordered the soft scrambled eggs with tomatoes, potatoes and spicy pepita toasts.

The eggs were cooked to American perfection, and by that I mean that they were nice and dried out, the way Americans expect their scrambled eggs to be. I, on the other hand, have a more European take on scrambled eggs and like mine a little wetter.

That being said, I did appreciate the sweet and tangy tomatoes that were so juicy that it almost made no sense for it not to be summer outside. Additionally, the potatoes had such a lovely crisp and seasoning to them I couldn't help but chow down greedily.

However, my favorite thing from my plate were the pepita toasts. Served atop freshly baked bread from Balthazar (we asked), the pepita spread had a mouth-watering sweet/spicy combo that was refined yet hearty. The masterful combination of the nutty pepita spread and crusty yet chewy bread was relentlessly addictive.

I also have to give a small shout out to the side order of bacon that we ordered (because fat kids are harder to kidnap.) Thick cut, smokey and laden with bacon-tastiness, the bacon was cooked exactly the way I like it- crispy but not burned and most importantly not dripping with oil.

Details:
bobo
181 West 10th Street
New York, NY 10014
212- 488-2626