Eggs and ArtiCHOKEs: Norma's

Sunday, January 25 / Norma's (Le Parker Meridien) / 2:00pm

Don't let the punchy decor fool you.

I should have seen the warning signs when I stepped into that hotel lobby. I just should have known. But would I have turned my back on sweet possibility--the possibility only brunch can bring to an empty stomach and hopeful eyes? No, dear readers, I think not. I stayed in that foreboding lobby as we..
Warning #1: waited for our table since Seth decided to be incredibly tardy--and it does, really, make so much sense to punish the on-timers by making them wait despite their throbbing thirst due to a long night of strong gin and tonics.
Warning #2: watched little screaming, syruppy-handed munchkins parade around the perpetually echoing lobby as if it were a Holiday Inn. Pa-leeze.

When Seth finally arrived, we were begrudgingly led through a circus of diaper bags, Italian hair gel and half eaten plates of goop to get to our table.

I can't even wait for the next reveal...
BIG Warning #3: out first server was indescribable--words cannot begin to give justice to this guy's (girl's?) appearance. He (she) was quite large in an Andre-the-Giant way. His (her) face was freakishly smooth--every last hair waxed off save for the strange, almost cartoony lines that served as eyebrows. The absolute scariest part of this man (woman) was the hair that seemed to rest timidly on top of a cold, bald expanse with no sense or means of security. Heebie jeebies!

So after the manwoman poured my Warning #4: $9 glass of orange juice that had probably come from a Tropicana carton, I turned my attention towards a whopping menu of meals that could easily salvage the experience with one tasty bite. But alas, fate was not so kind to me that tragic day.

After evaluating each and every menu item with all the focus of a mathematician calculating THE equation of his career, I narrowed down my choices to the Super Blueberry Pancakes, the Chocolate Decadence French Toast and, deplorably, the Artychoked Benedict. (It sounds like we were at Disney World, I know; and, in retrospect, I think I would have prefered Donald Duck as head chef to the half wit who made my breakfast that moring.) We all know what I picked--the Artychoked Benedict.

Let me-at least-defend my choice, dear reader, lest you begin to doubt my culinary cunning. I THOUGHT artichokes were an inventive spin on the traditional benedict repertoire. I THOUGHT the side of truffle sauce would be a decadent, lip smacking substitution to the tradition hollandaise sauce--one of the few culinary concoctions that truly frightens me (thanks, Anthony Bourdain). I THOUGHT I would choose a healthy alternative to sugar-loaded options, sweet tooth though I may be. I THOUGHT a combination of sweet artichokes, buttery eggs and earthy truffles would be one of greatness--a gastronomic explosion of untasted proportions in my mouth. How wrong I was...

The meals at Norma's come in portion sizes that resemble those in Texas, only twice as large. When our plates arrived, everyone received their plates of towering eggs, potatoes, cheese, what have you. Mine, however, was Warning #5: a runt compared to those of my fellow diners. No big deal, since mine would taste magnificent. Why overdo it when the flavor spectrum is--or should be--perfection? Turns out that someone in that kitchen really had it out for me-mafia style. Maybe it was my Blair Waldorf get up (it was, after all, Sunday Brunch uptown...), maybe it was my whole 'tude that began with Warning #1, but those are not excuses to butcher the greatness of what could have been a decent meal. My artichokes were NOT cooked well. Where they should have been soft and supple, they were two lifeless green rocks. The potato chunks were similarly unpleasant to chew due to an unlawful neglect during cooking. I also believed English muffins to play a supporting but nevertheless powerful role in this dish, which at that point, would have given some substance to an otherwise wimpy excuse for innovation--like Robert Taylor trying desperately to support a dying Greta Garbo in the closing scene of "Camille".

The English muffins were conveniently missing. No Robert Taylor. No desperate attempt for closure.

I do not recall many experiences where I had such a powerful revulsion to my dish of choice. I pride myself on my palate but it was neither my palate nor my hope for an adventurous flavor combo that failed me that day--it was Norma's. On top of my disgusting eggs and artichokes, the service was extremely poor (heshe mysteriously never returned after our first round of coffee) and the entire ambience was a bit off. There was no cohesion between customers: European fashion demons, non-plussed Middle Easterners who just kept eating without so much as an "mmm" passing between them, yucky sticky children who cried and tired parents wondering why the alcholic beverages were absent from the menu. To top it all off, my attitude absolutely plummeted once I realized that my meal was crap. I kid you not, tears welled up in my eyes when I looked at Seth and whispered with all the strength I could muster without becoming the human well, "I should have ordered the Super Blueberry Pancakes. Do you want to get drunk after this?" It was almost as horrid a feeling as if my lover had walked into Norma's, publicly declared his passion for another woman, poured my $9 orange juice down my Blair Waldorf outfit, slapped me with a white glove and stomped out to a cheering audience and "Disturbia" by Rihanna booming over the loudspeakers. Offended, pissed off and embarrassed.

Thanks Norma, whoever/wherever you are. I thought we could be friends because you sounded elderly and I have a huge, melting heart for old people, but you must be really bitter just like your Artychoked Benedict because the all the old women I know (Mimi, included) make phenomenal food, or at least know how to cook artichokes and potatoes to a level of edibility.

All in all, Norma's ranks lower than McD's on my list. No offense, well maybe yes, but I'm sure some of the other dishes aren't that bad. It is, after all, Le Parker Meridien. I just would have rather soothed a hangover with a $3 Egg and Cheese McMuffin than artyCHOKED down the $3o pile of manure I had at Norma's.

At least the McD's option includes the English muffins...