The Breslin, Chelsea

What does a scrunchie + a bumpit = ?
If you weren't imagining a breaded and deep-fried strip of braised lamb dipped in malt vinegar, then you were a lot like me – that is, before my recent visit to The Breslin.  Nestled inside the new Ace Hotel, the Breslin is yet another venture from April Bloomfield of Spotted Pig fame.  I have tasted the shear meatitude, and I'm never going back.  Cuz I mean, this place seriously puts the M-E-A-T in Eats Meats West.  From the scotch egg to the smoked pork belly to the aforementioned scrumpet, the savory centers of our brains were overloading.  I indulged in only a single pint of the house cask ale, yet on the subway right home it felt like I had Norovirus or something.  My tummy was a grumbling!  Too much meat, if there is such a thing.  The portions are small but so ridiculously juicy and filling.  J bit into his burger, for example, and it literally splooged all over the table.  Though the waitress was unquestionably the best I've had in a while from any restaurant, there was one mildly hilarious serving snafu: a cod brandade was delivered to the table and announced as "Caesar salad," which it most definitely did not resemble. And did they think we would have ordered such a thing?!?  Plus, sitting next to us was this hilariously picky group of older Asian women, who may or may not have been famous.  It was hard to tell because they didn’t look familiar, yet numerous restaurant officials kept coming up to them, each more eager to please than the last.  The women would politely demand things like lowering the music volume, getting extra plates, and wrapping things up to take home.  Of course, these are all traditionally acceptable complaints to have while dining, but there's a difference between simply having a gripe versus verbalizing it in the most restrained/articulated English-is-my-second-language-but-I'm-throwing-it-in-your-face way.  Priceless.