48. Montmartre
I’ve been in a relationship for almost eleven years. Its serious, and it’s real, and his name is Market Lunch. When I was sixteen, I wandered in to Eastern Market, plopped down at a busy counter and ordered a softshell crab sandwich. And that was the end of that. It’s getting pretty serious, I’m thinking of seeing if the Brick wants to move in with me. What does this have to do with a tiny French restaurant you may ask? Well, I’ve walked by Montmartre on my way to Market Lunch many times and never even thought to walk in. Actually, I usually snarfed under my breath when I thought of all the idiots (idiots!) who passed up a brick sandwich in favor of some foofy frisee salad. But I go where the magazine tells me, so I passed up my favorite lunch counter this weekend. I actually made a point to walk to the restaurant without walking past the masses at Market Lunch, lest I get distracted and order a crab cake.
The weather was great on Sunday morning so I was happy to see there were plenty of tables outside to lounge at. Unfortunately I was not the only person with that idea, and we were relegated to the indoor seating. Inside, the restaurant is just as bustling as the market and could have been picked right out of some Left Bank side street. The tiny space is packed with tables, and I was glad we were just a twosome, because groups of more than that were logging in some serious wait time in the hallway.
The menu at brunchtime is much less involved than the dinner menu I found whilst online stalking the restaurant. Instead of the strictly French fare that seems to constitute dinner, brunch was a little more relaxed. It had your standards—eggs benedict, quiche of the day, a few omelets. Rachel decided on the Belgian waffles (the little kid at the next table gave it the thumbs up), and I chose the buckwheat crepe with prosciutto, egg, spinach and red onion. I thought that a buckwheat crepe would be along the lines of the cotton candy BBQ eel, but our friendly waitress assured me that it was great. She’s a smart one, because the crepe tasted the same as a regular one but had some more heft to it. Not only was it more filling, but it stood up to the many many ingredients inside. And I bet it was a great source of fiber! Bonus! The egg inside was fried but still gooey, and the crepe was packed with prosciutto. Rachel agreed with the kid at the next table and gave the thumbs up to her waffles—they were sweet and decadent but had berries on top so they obviously were healthy.
So Montmartre, I now eat my words (with prosciutto and spinach please)—I will be stopping by again on a future Eastern Market excursion. But don’t tell Market Lunch, he’s the jealous type.
