Persimmon
4256 Fremont Ave N, 632-0760
Tues-Sat 11:30 am-7 pm, Sun 10 am-3 pm.
A not-so-Zen koan: Is brunch really brunch if there’s no wait to be seated?
Brunch has always bothered me, even as it occasionally ropes me in. Why should breakfast food be more expensive just because it is served on Sunday? Why should I drink mimosas, which ruin both the orange juice and the champagne? Greater minds than I have pondered the meaning of brunch–Marge Simpson’s would-be lover, Jacques, for one: “It’s not quite breakfast, it’s not quite lunch, but it comes with a slice of cantaloupe at the end.” It could be the cantaloupe, but I’ve often wondered if, instead, the wait is what defines brunch–whether a meal of eggs and flapjacks might seem a bit of a letdown without it.
Then again, maybe not: I have yet to be disappointed by brunch at Persimmon, nor have I had to wait for a seat there. Walk into the kumquat-colored room and the waitresses with the cute vintage aprons will tell you to grab a chair at one of the communal tables or at the countertop. Before you know it you’re drinking from a bottomless cup of coffee (no espresso here) and your food is on its leisurely way.
The best seats are the chrome-plated stools at the counter, like the ones Andrew and I snagged one morning next to a man with a tremendous handlebar mustache. (Andrew’s own mustache is struggling along, and I think it gave him hope.) Why are these seats the best? Because when you admire the apple crepes on the menu, but don’t order them, your server can overhear you and ask if you might not like a half-order for dessert ($4). Yes! Yes! (The crepes were fabulous, by the way, with fat hunks of caramelized apples and a noseful of calvados vapors.)
With its jolly colors, beaded curtains, and sad clown paintings in the hallway, Persimmon’s look is retro-cute, but not overstuffed. The same goes for the food. I especially liked one eggy special, a neatly arranged gratin of baked zucchini, onions, and tomato, topped with two quivering poached eggs ($8.50). The omelets are thin and crepe-like; even layered with rich ingredients like ham and Gruyére ($8.50) they don’t seem gluttonous. The sorrel omelet ($8) was a bit dour in flavor and color (the tangy herb turns army green when cooked), but it perks up when smeared with a créme fra–che garnish. I’m not sure what to make of the corned beef ($9.50)–it’s certainly odd-looking, cooked as it is into a big brown cushion. Only when the crust is broken do gravied chunks of potatoes and corned beef come tumbling out in a strange feat of breakfast engineering. It’s not as light-handed as some of the other choices, but then again, corned beef is so strangely addictive….
Just to make everything seem brunchy, each entrée comes parked alongside pan-fried potatoes and a piece of fruit–if not cantaloupe, Jacques, then a cluster of grapes. There’s a choice between toast and chive biscuit, and I recommend, at all costs, going with the steamy biscuit. I chose to spread jelly on mine, which is a little weird, given the chives, but somehow the sweet, buttery, and oniony flavors all got along just fine.
Waiting lists will soon crop up on Sundays at Persimmon, so it’s good that the cafe keeps stretching its hours–dinner and happy-hour snacks will soon be available. Until then, there is also lunch, bravely competing with the mind-blowing pork sandwiches across the street at Paseo. But then again, Persimmon has homemade apple pie on the counter, and what I found to be a damn fine Reuben ($8.50)–thin and crisp, pressed on a panini grill, accompanied by chips or, in my case, a few forkfuls of sweet marinated leeks. I bit into my sandwich with some sadness, because it was the last day that it was available on Sweet Lorraine’s rye. Sweet Lorraine’s, the Magnolia bakery that specialized in Jewish breads–chewy ryes and bulky onion rolls–sadly closed shop this month. It might resurface soon, but until then, it will be sorely missed by me and all of Seattle’s Reubens.
I guess it’s all chive biscuits from here on out.