I have a weak spot for dark hamburger joints. The ones where the atmosphere is raw, moody and vintage at the same time. A place where your imagination runs wild, where time stands still and where your eyes are treated to all kinds of spectacular things. A venue with a true core business, like cows. Mood and atmosphere at The Breslin: check!
Now let's talk about the food. As an absolute wannabe New Yorker my beau and I shared a starter. A simple plain looking salad came our way (recommended by the most dedicated waitress ever, gratuity 30%). Did I ever use the expression "like an angel peeing on your tongue"? This salad was the angel! The flavors were bursting in my mouth like fireworks. Every bite I took, I experienced other seasonings. And then, the pièce de résistance, my Breslin hamburger. Pure and raw, period! All of a sudden I was giving our waitress some signs: I gave her a thumbs up. (oh no thumbs up and my glasses, don't you even dare to make that connotation).
note: if you haven't joined my Molami-headphone give-away, shame on you! click here.