| rev:text
| - So, I went to Fabergé last Saturday with my girlfriend, and I was pretty stoked when she suggested it, since we had both hear great things about the place and were eager to try what has been dubbed as one of the best breakfasts in Montreal.
It's been six days, almost a full week, and I thought that if I waited to write my review my anger would have surely subsided by now, and I may let up on them just a little. But, I'll be the first to admit that I was wrong. I'm still pissed and really, really confused.
I guess I will start from the beginning. We waited in line for about 30-45 minutes, which was just fine with me. I've waited in line for far longer at L'Avenue and I would happily wait in line for a full six hours for the crêpes pommes-cheddar. So waiting less than an hour on a late Saturday morning didn't phase me.When we were seated, I was very impressed with my surroundings. Great decor. Absolutely lovely. I particularly loved the Flava Flav clock on the wall near the kitchen. Looking at the menu, I was impressed with the number of options, and had a difficult time choosing.
I am a huge fan of huevos rancheros, and am always eager to try them wherever I go, even though in this city, I'm usually disappointed (side note: for the rancheros of your life, go to Le Gros Jambon). So, naturally, I ordered the rancheros, which were listed under Specialities. Promising, right?
Again, I was wrong. When the dish arrived, my heart sank. It LOOKED disappointing. Huevos rancheros is usually a dish with a little height to it, given there are so many components stacked one on top of the other. But if I were to get down at eye level with my plate, I would not have been able to see my food over the edges of the plate.
The eggs were cooked to perfection, I'll give them that. But it was all downhill from there. From a bird's eye view, or just the view you get looking down at your plate when it's on the table in front of you, it looked like it was a plain ol' pair of sunny side up eggs placed on top of two corn tortillas, with guac and salsa served on the side. Moving the egg a little, I could see there was indeed some refried black bean and pickled onion sandwiched between the egg and tortilla. There was about enough bean spread to cover my thumb nail (I'm a girl with dainty hands), and no trace of sour cream whatsoever, as advertised on the menu. The "pickled" onion tasted as though it had been dipped into vinegar for a nanosecond before tossing it on the plate. There was nothing pickled about that onion.
The guacamole was alright. Nothing more than mashed avocado with no trace of seasoning, but I won't complain very much about that, because I could eat an avocado like an apple. The salsa was not verde, not anything close to a salsa verde. They gave me a pitiful corn salsa, which is yellow, by the way, not verde. You don't need to know what yellow means in Spanish, Fabergé, but I think if you're running a restaurant it should be assumed you know what a salsa verde is. Okay, I'll stop ranting about that. Anyway, the corn salsa consisted of dry, wrinkly canned corn, a bit of tomato and a bit of white onion. No seasoning. No cilantro. Not even a trace of lime to give the dish some brightness.
The potatoes served with the dish were huge. So big that I needed to quarter them to be able to take a bite out of them. And no, these weren't whole potatoes. Just enormous chunks of under-seasoned starch. I was lucky enough to get a bite out of a nice green bit, which was entirely my fault, since I wasn't paying very much attention to what I was grabbing with my fork.
But aside from the near nonexistent black beans, the unpickled pickled onions, the lack of sour cream, the salsa that could be outdone by Old El Paso, and the meteor-sized potatoes, there is one thing about this dish that cannot be forgiven.
You see, in any huevos rancheros dish, the corn tortillas are generally lightly fried, or, at the very least, warmed. But Fabergé did not fry their corn tortillas, let alone warm them. They served me straight-from-the-fridge-and-tossed-onto-the-plate corn tortillas. Look. You need to heat your corn tortillas. Not only does it help with pliability, it makes them taste, you know, not like frozen sliced bread. And the worst thing is, I know that I didn't just get a shoddy dish. This is how they MEANT to serve the dish, because I saw a server walk by with the same dish for another person. No difference.
Whoever is in the kitchen that is in charge of assembling the huevos rancheros, Google them and learn what they actually are. Or call me. I have a great recipe.
At the very least, take them off of your freaking Specialities list.
After all this, I can't even get into my girlfriend's breakfast poutine. Not as disappointing, but definitely nothing to feel satisfied with.
Skip Fabergé, go almost anywhere else.
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