In my dissolute youth, I worked as a line cook in a hotel kitchen on Martha’s Vineyard. Oh, how I loathed the brunch shift. Churning out a never-ending procession of yogurt parfaits and chocolate-chip pancakes, I wanted to dunk my head in the deep fryer by noon every Sunday. I even pitied the customers, who paid a premium for uninspired fare prepared by hungover, pissed-off cooks. Brunch? Fie upon it! The repast of brain-dead yoga moms.
But how age changes us. Now approaching forty, I’m something of a brunch maximalist. I once fancied myself an urban Viking, subsisting on pre-workout and nicotine by day and steak and whiskey by night. These days, I prefer nothing more than a lazy Sunday morning with my girlfriend in a sunlit dining room. Twin cappuccinos. Smoked salmon eggs Benedict. Tabasco-spiked Bloody Marys. A post-prandial stroll through the West Village. Why the hell did I shun such joys for so many years?
Here are my favorite places for brunch in New York City. Make your reservations by mid-week. Set aside the rest of the afternoon for lounging in a park, window shopping, or simply lollygagging about Manhattan. And wear the proper brunching attire: your finest athleisure.
Brunches Worth Waking Up For
LenLen
When I traveled through Thailand last year, breakfast was often my favorite meal of the day. Nothing wakes a man up quite like a spread of Thai coffee, ripe papaya, and a steaming bowl of soup redolent of bird’s-eye chiles and galangal. I can’t afford to fly to Phuket regularly, but I can take the subway to LenLen, a standout Thai restaurant in Flatiron.
For brunch, chef Peter Ki Suk Tondreau puts a Siamese spin on all-American staples. The Tornado Egg Crab Curry—silky eggs, jasmine rice, and red curry studded with sweet lump crab—is like an aristocrat’s loco moco, the Hawaiian diner classic. Mint-hued, sweetened with coconut and maple syrup, and as rich as wedding cake, the pandan pancakes will satiate your sweet tooth for the rest of the week.
Dante Aperitivo
Caffè Dante is one of New York’s immortal cocktail bars. It’s a perennial fixture on North America’s 50 Best Bars list, and deservedly so.
The same team behind the Greenwich Village icon recently opened Dante Aperitivo on Bank Street. Floor-to-ceiling windows and photographs of the Amalfi Coast by David Yarrow adorn the intimate dining room. It’s so quintessentially West Village it deserves a cameo in the next Sex and the City sequel.
The cocktails live up to Dante’s exalted reputation. The Garibaldi—Campari and fresh-squeezed orange juice—is as sunny and joyful as a summer morning in Positano. Inspired by Australian brunch culture, the fare is fresh and wholesome. Indulge in the glittering raw bar before moving on to avocado toast and a basket of house-made croissants and muffins.
12 Chairs Cafe
Moving from Down Under to the Mediterranean, 12 Chairs Cafe is a little slice of Tel Aviv in SoHo and Williamsburg. The menu features fresh salads, silky hummus, and dishes brightened by the clean, herbaceous flavors of the Levant. It’s my go-to brunch spot when I plan to crush a lift in the afternoon instead of succumbing to a food coma.
Order the shakshuka—eggs poached in a spicy tomato sauce and served piping hot in a skillet—or the Israeli Breakfast, a glorious spread of eggs, fresh salads, soft cheeses, dips, warm bread, coffee, and freshly squeezed juice. If you’d rather skip that Sunday workout, treat yourself to the challah French toast and chicken schnitzel sandwich.
Jacob’s Pickles
I occasionally hear Southerners smugly aver that New Yorkers, bless their Yankee hearts, just can’t make proper fried chicken, collards, and mac-and-cheese. I take them to Jacob’s Pickles on the Upper West Side to disabuse them of such nonsense.
If you go for brunch, a word to the wise: fast for 24 hours beforehand and consider a five-mile run that morning. Jacob’s chicken and waffles—buttermilk fried chicken and a generous hit of maple butter—is a classic. I like to swap out the waffle for challah French toast. A sleeper hit on the menu is the watermelon-strawberry salad with blue cheese and toasted almonds. Jacob’s also quietly houses one of New York’s best American whiskey collections. Condolences, son—turns out Yankee ingenuity can improve even Southern comfort food.
Motel No Tell
An unexpected perk of dating a Gen Z woman is discovering a universe of New York City bars off my fellow Millennials’ radar. When she took me to Motel No Tell in the East Village, I knew the kids were all right. The décor—a riot of neon signs, disco balls, and Moroccan pendant lamps—evokes Palm Springs in the swinging ’70s. The booths are spacious enough for a crowd, the cocktails playful, potent, and easy on the wallet.
The menu is as eclectic as the clientele: Cantonese dumplings served on willow-style melamine plates, an In-N-Out-inspired burger, and pizzas with a cult following. The brunch breakfast burrito, a cheesy football stuffed with scrambled eggs and chorizo, is as good as any I’ve eaten in Austin. Wash it down with one of the boozy slushies pulled from the machines behind the bar.
The Granola Bar
The Granola Bar proves that healthy brunch doesn’t have to feel like privation. The hottest thing to come out of Connecticut since needlepoint belts and films about boarding school, the Westport institution recently landed on Madison Avenue.
Chef JJ Henao’s menu runs from sweet potato pancakes to maple banana oatmeal and grilled peach and ricotta toast. The house-made granola remains the star, sprinkled like fairy dust over burrata, salads, and parfaits. Pair it all with an artfully poured cortado. Or, since you’re already eating so salubriously, you might as well order a second espresso martini.
Motek
When a restaurant blends Miami glitz, New York finesse, and Mediterranean gastronomy, you’ve got my attention. Named after the Hebrew word for sweetheart, Motek brings the bright, sunny flavors of the eastern Mediterranean to Flatiron and the West Village.
With sections devoted to mezze, steaks, Israeli street food, and more dip varieties than an SEC tailgate, the menu is extensive enough to warrant multiple visits. Start light with the hummus and house-made pickles, then move on to the pita heaped with pastrami.
Eckhart Beer Co.
On a recent jaunt to Tokyo, I was tickled to see German restaurants and breweries trending among the Japanese—a people with a fine nose for the finer things. Once unfairly maligned, German cuisine is also having its moment in the sun in New York. Eckhart Beer Co. brings Bavarian Gemütlichkeit to Bushwick.
The handsome beer hall—all wood trim, communal tables, and gleaming brewing equipment—specializes in crisp Helles, German Pils, and Czech-style lagers. Come weekends, Eckhart unveils its “don’t call it brunch” menu. I call French toast with apple compote and beer-caramel sauce brunch, but I learned from studying Kant and Heidegger that Germans have a logic all their own. The menu is refreshingly small, and every plate scrumptious. Arrive as hungry as a Houskarl and order the egg sandwich, bratwurst, potato pancakes, and spaetzle gratin. Wash it all down with a grapefruit Radler spiked with Aperol.
Bubby’s
Let’s be honest, there isn’t much better than coffee and pancakes. I love a good stack of cakes slathered in butter and syrup. Sure, you could be all healthy about it and add fruit as most places do during brunch. But, for me, I am all about the pancakes and butter. There are pancakes for everyone on the brunch menu. The James Beard is light and fluffy, the 1890 Sourdough is thin and chewy, with fried chicken, and traditional breakfasts. Or, if you had a rough night the night before, hit up the pancake flight.
Out of all of these options, there is only one you can get as you head out of the city. Stop at Bubby’s at LaGuardia to give yourself a great meal before a long flight. Brunch has won me over now that I don’t have to work the shifts. But the chance to have pancakes later than breakfast? Sign me up.
