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| - As close to the movie "Amelie" as you're going to get in the Big Smoke, Le Petit Dejeuner sits just far enough from the madding business crowd to make you forget that you've basically crawled through the office district in order to make your brunch date.
If you're a daytime dater this is almost the perfect spot; a long, narrow room with near doll-sized chairs, tables and tchotchkes.
Narrow booths and tables are perfect for conspiring or canoodling over mugs of strong coffee.
The seating arrangements may feel cramped if you're on the tall or leggy side, and this is no place to go if you're worried about stashing your briefcase, coat or shopping trip trophies. Better to hold off nearby St. Lawrence Market with its random antique fairs until after.
Le Petit Dejeuner demands patience at the outset. Would-be patrons queue up for weekend brunch, which is really what this spot is all about. If you don't speak French, I'll translate. Le Petit Dejeuner means the Little Dejeuner. I think that "Dejeuner" means death; but then, "the little death" might be an odd name for a French diner for more reasons than one.
Unless you're early, the line snakes around the sidewalk, and while you appreciate not being rushed once you make it indoors, you wish to God that the people ahead of you would just take their coffee and waffles to go.
There's franco-diner classics for sale elsewhere on the menu, but to be honest, I just ignore them in favour of the breakfast selection. Scratch that. I ignore most of the menu except for the waffles benedict.
I pause to note that I've eaten other menu items here.
The ubiquitous apple slaw is cute, but quality varies wildly with the season. In Fall, it's tart and crisp and cuts nicely through the rest of the richness. Made with storage or foreign apples, it's a wan and mealy distraction from serious good eatin'.
Rosti are hashbrown's European identical cousin, or latke's shikse goddess girlfriend. They're also golden brown and deliciously crispy.
The waffles benedict are testament to the power of the carb; elevating the English-muffin based classic to full-on foodgasm. I've tried innovative starch-based bennies elsewhere, and always found them lacking: latkes go limp beneath still-damp poached eggs, while donuts just dissipate. The waffle's brittle fused crust is a perfect vehicle; its wells catch runaway egg yolk and lemony Hollandaise, and segment for proper rationing against back bacon. I like to think I'm not greedy, but dude, one egg and one slice of peameal for almost $12 just leaves me begging for my next hit.
Now, if only Amelie would return...
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