Ofcourse we are sabotaged and the breakfast place is closed for summer and we are now stumbling aimlessly west about to implode on ourselves and each other. As we wander destitute past one shuttered bar after the next we fantastical and suddenly find ourselves at Freemans. Seated comfortably inside in the air conditioned back; with filled water glasses and menus. Whew! I feel extraordinarily lucky.
You know freemans:
Freemans is this place that had been around for what feels like forever and was potentially one of the original speakeasy cocktail bistros. I am speculating here. It is located at the back of an alleyway off the otherwise crowded streets of east soho.
On this Sunday morning in particular it is still very quiet and we get the pleasure of pre brunch rush service. I order the baked eggs: wow!
This is not a piece of art?:
They come smouldering hot on the pan, with wintered spinach, bacon bits and melted cheese to top. It is honestly honestly delicious delicious. The eggs were almost impossibly well cooked. The way I dream of eggs; runny, soft, but hot and cooked. The bacon, spinach and cheese gave flavour without overpowering. I was super satisfied.
As we ate, both cowboy and I slowly came back to life. And as we finished we were ready to go enjoy a hot Sunday afternoon.