Pancakes: Hundred Acres

Saturday, February 7th / 2:00pm / MacDougal and Prince St.

This past Saturday, I brunched with two gal pals at Hundred Acres, the hip younger sister to Five Points. I didn't think I was going to be able to make it since I had my training obligations for an upcoming marathon, but alas, when a New York brunch beckons, I hastily rearrange my schedule so as not to be rude. I got up WAY too early for a Saturday to fit in a three hour run just so I could make it to brunch, which to most city-dwellers is tantamount to heaven on earth.

I had never been to Hundred Acres, though I had brunched at Five Points on Great Jones--a quaint spot where one is likely to see celebs munching on homemade muffins and fresh berries prior to brunch rush hour. I arrived at the village spot a wee bit tardy. Afraid of rush-hour crankiness from hungover hostesses and baggy-eyed waitresses, I put on the best of my Southern charms thinking I would have to apologize for making my party wait on me...but Pleasantry #1: they sat the rest of the party without me (much to my relief)...and
Pleasantry #2: the employees at Hundred Acres seemed freshly alert and kind as if they were farming folk, bringing in their daily harvests for an equally down-home crowd.

Inside, Hundred Acres resembles a cute, country baby version of Five Points. It actually transported me to a time and place far far FAR away from the police sirens, steamy sewers and scary hobos of the city where life is slower, quieter and more organic. Our waitress--donning a long white apron and a laid-back tee--seemed as though she was our next door neighbor who just wanted to share (but pay for) her warm buttermilk biscuits with us. I wanted to call her Josie. Back to life, back to reality though.

I finally decided on pancakes with apple compote since I'm always in the mood for something sweet; and somehow, even though it was 3pm, I can only justify a sweet lunch on the weekend. Josie brought me my steaming flapjacks o' fluffiness graciously. I think Josie lives on a sprawling farm behind the restaurant where it is always sunny, humid and sing-songy. Back to my pancakes...
Pleasantry #3: Perfect amount of fluff balanced with just enough density so that they could hold the gallon of syrup in which I drowned them. (I am a syrup whore. My insincere apologies to pancake puritans.)
Pleasantry #4: Apple compote wasn't crazy soggy like it can be at inattentive kitchens. At the end of the day, the apples still resembled apples and most importantly, still tasted like them, too.
They were probably picked fresh from one of Josie's apple trees out back, come to think of it.

In addition to my syrup sluttiness, I also happen to be a nibble stealing weasel meaning that I cannot-by human means-control my desire to thieve bites from my fellow brunchers (that is not to say, that if I had superhero powers, I would be any more in control) if their plates are sending smells of splendor my way. I tasted my rommates "Acres Scramble" which was made up of peppers, gruyere and some other food of wonder plucked minutes ago from Josie's plot. The Acres Scramble is to brunch as Jesus is to Christianity. The flavors played joyously around in my mouth for what seemed like hours--it's the sort of bite I could relive at every single meal if I had the option--you know the one where you get the perfect ratio of ingredients?

Mmmm... stomach full. Mouth/Mind/Soul happy. Day successful.

Brunch is one of those meals where I don't really pay attention to the check because if I did, I might realize the superflousness of the meal (I always have pancake mix and eggs in my kitchen in case of dinner emergencies) and lessen such outings. I don't recall the price, but $5 or $500, the food was worth it. Two thumbs up for the farm fresh flavors at the aptly named Hundred Acres.

Coming Soon: What not to do with artichokes and eggs