Canadian as I might be, hockey pucks are not something I enjoy with my Sunday morning eggs benny. But hockey pucks are essentially what this Canadian gal got in place of english muffins this past weekend over at Yolk’s.
For months now, these egg sammys have basically been working this town into a mad frenzy so when I round the corner of East Hastings and Clark to see the hungry hordes waiting outside the little diner, I’m expecting nothing short of of an eggcellent experience. (Yes, I went there. I know, I’m sorry, I hate myself too.)
Having previously been the location of a steak house that more than likely was the scene of several grisly crimes (possibly murders), I was surprised to walk into a small restaurant that was definitely less grubby that I anticipated. In fact, it even felt almost clean.
After being advised of a 30 minute wait, it’s something similar to a godsend of the twisted variety when that sweet sweet liar with the massive list of names seats us almost an hour later. Sure, I might be so hungry I’m about to eat my own mother’s face off, but you know what, at least now we have a table.
The server drops off our menus at the speed of nothing and before he can escape, we just about maul him.
“We’re ready to order,” we practically bark at him. “Don’t you dare leave or I will eat you. I will litrally eat you,” are the only thoughts racing through my mind.
Two coffees, one earl grey tea, one chicken and waffles, two sides of lemon truffle hashbrowns, two double smoked bacon eggs bennys, and two daily specials – pork belly confit eggs bennies please and thank you.
“That’s fine though I’m sure, it’s not like they’re known for their coffee anyway. It can only go up from here,” I find myself feebly reassuring the table.
Twenty minutes, or three hours later (I’m not sure at this point because of the severe hunger pangs and hallucinations), our food makes its way onto our table.
Silence falls upon our table as our faces and food meet in what is sure to be the ghastliest scene since The Exorcist. I stab eight potatoes and shovel them down in about 35 seconds. I’m so delirious at this point, I can’t even taste the food. Quality comes second to survival I’m told.
Once I’ve calmed down slightly, I notice the lemon zest on the hash. The potats are sizeably chunked, but that zest combined with the truffle oil and parmesan cheese dusting work to make this dish both overwhelming and underwhelming all at once. There were so many heavy flavours going on in my hash I found I didn’t even want to eat them anymore, which is just eerie behaviour from me.**
We all enthusiastically go to cut into our eggs benny only to be greeted by the sound of knives scraping against rock. That’s no rock though. That’s right, that rock’s an english muffin. My pork belly confit eggs benny is essentially being served to me on a crouton. Listen, I’m a crouton girl and like I always say, “When in doubt, always add more crouton.”
But there is a time and there is a place for croutons. And that time and that place is not on my sunday morning eggs benny, you dig?
Admittedly, everything else atop my crouton is done really well. The egg is perfectly runny while the juicy pork belly mingling with the hollandaise, honey dijon mustard and spinach make for a deliciously warm experience in my mouth. The bacon, egg, and hollandaise experience is also lovely.
To my surprise, the chicken and waffles, despite their unimpressive serving size (according to my father), stole the show this Sunday. The fried chicken was tasty, crispy, and moist while the waffles were lightly crispy on the outside and moist on the inside. And when they soak up that sweet maple syrup – quality.
After months of anticipation and yearning, would I return?
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, that gooey vision of my weekend runny egg is pretty much the only thing that gets me through my week. But when I have to wait an hour to have my overpriced runny egg served atop a hockey puck, we have a problem.
As tasty as your ingredients are, if you can’t do something as simple as toast my english muffin to the state of edible, you better believe I’m not shelling out nearly $18 dollars a pop for my meal. Especially not in a city where brunch is the jam and eggs benny are a plenty.
*Updated Edit: I’ve been advised that it is actually $3.25 for a bottomless cup of coffee and $2.25 for a to go cup with refills coming in at $1 each (which helps me sleep easier at night!), though the menu did not state this change at the time of dining.
**Updated Edit: I’ve also been advised that that parmesan cheese dusting is in fact actually not parmesan cheese, but rather kosher salt – bad meg, sorry sorry sorry.