Salade de Fruits Café

Saturday, December 20th, 2008

Salade de Fruits Café

1551 West 7th Avenue
Vancouver, British Columbia
tel. 604.714.5987

http://www.saladedefruits.com

Brunch served Saturdays from 10am to 2:30 p.m.

After several years of being undeservedly ridiculed and ostracized, The French finally seem to be regaining the respect that they’re due. The Iraq war turned out to be just as much of a clusterfuck as their leaders predicted while Michael Moore’s “Sicko” illuminated not only their fine medical system but also their admirable penchant for working as little as humanly possible. Hell, even their new president has contributed to this most recent chapter of the French Renaissance by extending the olive branch to the States and ditching his aging, wrinkly wife for an Italian nude model/pop-star/hottie. Formidable!!

As Freedom Toast disappears from menus and societies' collective consciousness, we at the Armada decided to celebrate by taking our own municipal trans-Atlantc flight down ot the Francophone Cultural Centre on 7th Ave. It is here amongst the free clinics and overpasses where you'll find Salade de Fruits, one of the city's hidden breakfast gems. Promoting authentic French food prepared and served by real-life French people, this small café is often overlooked due to its dismal location and exceedingly nondescript exterior. These trifles should not dissuade the avid brunch gourmet, however, as Salade de Fruits offers one of the most delectably affodable petite déjeuners in town.

The décor, as one would expect, is a hodgepodge of all things French. You like cheap souvenirs? Well, so does whoever owns this restaurant! The space ostensibly extends into the foyer of the Cultural Centre, making for a bit of an odd and occasionally drafty setup. During the summer, I’d recommend getting there early and snagging one of the South-facing patio seats. While exposure to direct sunlight rarely enhances breakfast dishes, it’s a safe bet that the average pasty Canadian face could benefit from a little UV.

As far as services goes, the wait staff is composed entirely of francophones and the quality of their attention varies tremendously depending on what language you speak. I’ll give you one guess as to which mother tongue will result in the more amiable server but hey, how authentic would a French dining experience be without the haughty attitude? Thankfully, our waitresses plunging décolletage adequately compensated for her shortcomings in the congeniality department.

My selection today, amongst the four Ouefs Benny aux choix, was the saumon fumé (smoked salmon). Now, most breakfast restaurants in Vancouver offer some variant of this “West Coast” classic benedict and S.de F. is no exception. The most notable distinguishing characteristics are their unique hollandaise and the replacement of the traditional (and in this case, blasphemous) English muffin base with a more delicate biscuit. At $7.99, you’d be hard pressed to find a benedict throughout the city offering more flavour for money.

Duckboy also anted up for a benny, his choice being the more traditional version comprising little more than ham and hollandaise. Although he lamented a first-bite vinegar tinge, he lauded the overall execution of this classic, going so far as to highlight the fluffiness of his egg whites. Oh, Duckboy. Whilst “my compliments to the fluffer” would serve as high praise in certain industries, those at the table were unanimous in our discouragement of his passing along this particular sentiment to the staff.

All of Salade de Fruits’ Bennies (and omelettes) come with their amazing version of seasoned home fries and a distinctive selection of accompanying breakfast meat. Ducky extolled the virtues of his spectacularly crispy bacon while the rest of the jury is still deliberating whether or not the lamb sausage was guilty of being too damn smoky.

Both visiting from their adopted countries, Toad and Lang-Dang opted for $7.99 omelettes of the ham/cheese/mushroom variety. Lang declared his meal to be excellent, specifically citing the smell and taste of the skillet’s pan-searing that had been infused into the eggs. Toad was complimentary overall but, being the international gastronome that he is, felt the brie could have used more of a nose. I tell you, this guy moves to Europe and all of a sudden he’s Jamie frickin’ Oliver. Ignoring this minor quibble, value for money was at the top of his list of many accolades.

Of course, for Salade de Fruits to offer food of this quality for this price, there must be a catch. Upon closer inspection, there are indeed several catches, all of which can be uncaught if one is willing to succumb to the very particular and very, very lazy nature of the French.

Apart from the afore-mentioned laissez-faire service, said catches are as follows; 1) Cash is the only acceptable method of payment and any attempts to remit via other means will be met with snide dismissal. 2) Coffee refills fall on the wrong side of free. This is a real pet peeve of mine as I feel it’s the one area where thrifty patrons such as myself can really exploit small business owners. 3) Brunch is served from 10:00am to 2:30pm ONLY on Saturdays. Evidently French people cannot be bothered to haul their Gallic asses out of bed before 10 am on any other day of the week. This leaves brunch-hungry diners with a very small window of opportunity.

Stereotypical nuances aside, I really enjoyed the breakfast offered up at Salade de Fruits and the rest of the Armada was in agreement. Reasonably priced French food of this calibre should the expectation rather than the example par excellence. Now, with countless breakfasting shores to plunder, I must attempt to conclude this review without resorting to a hackneyed “Bon Appétit.” Oh, goddamn it.

Dirty Johnny

Fets Pasta Bar and Grill

Saturday, January 3^rd, 2009

Fets Pasta Bar & Grill

1230 Commercial Drive
Vancouver, British Columbia
tel. 604.255.7771

Fets is a place we’d been meaning to hit up for years but for some inexplicable reason, let’s call it “sloth” for sake of argument, had just never gotten around to it. In an effort to placate some of the now suburbanite (and subordinate) members of the Armada, I suggested a more centrally located haunt. Despite the snowy conditions, we made our way down to the Drive and in doing so, were richly rewarded by one of our best breakfasting experiences in a long while.

Self-described “Pasta Bar” by night, the restaurant’s motif is decidedly pop culture, brandishing murals of the usual array of dead celebrities supplemented with a healthy dose of the Rolling Stones. Come on, is there anyone under 45 who still thinks the Stones in any way meet even the most liberal definition of cool? If you’re out there, we need to have a frank exchange of ideas as soon as possible. At any rate, the space itself is large, even drafty, but there are a lot of nooks and velvety couches to allow for a satisfyingly intimate meal with your own swarthy crew.

Our server, Veronique, was cut from the Armada’s type of cloth: attentive, patient and knowledgeable. She was also unabashedly hung-over but never let it interfere with her service or tableside manner. Coffee cups were refilled promptly but without prompting while upselling was soft, remorseful and only done to legitimately enhance the meal. Our wait time was reasonable and when the food did arrive, it took our combined Tetris skills to arrange and accommodate the vast array of plates and side dishes.

After inexcusably mistaking a likeness of Jimi Hendrix for Lionel Ritchie, Junior attacked his $11 chorizo hash with gusto. Rich in delicately fried onions and peppers, the hash was topped with two poached eggs and offered the choice of toast or, as a very enticing option, an English muffin. The meal was awarded top marks although he bemoaned the lack of a ‘certain sauciness’ that I suppose he’d come to expect from the likes of Milestones’ borderline inedible, barbeque-sauce soaked prime-rib hash. I personally appreciate a drier, crisper hash and prefer the option of adding any additional sauces myself.

J-llows, Junior’s long-suffering wife, is admittedly not the biggest breakfast fan, but enjoys the social aspect of the meal. Her choices tend to err on the side of conservatism and today was no exception with her selection of the $7 Full House. Both as simple and as easy as Jessica Simpson, this dish consisted of two free range eggs (done in the diner’s requested style), hash browns and toast. Every breakfast restaurant I’ve ever been to serves a variant of this meal and if you can’t get it right, you’re not going to get a lot of repeat business. Fets’ Full House was well-executed, attractively presented and would handily satisfy the less adventurous members of your party.

Ever the insatiable beast, M opted for the $12 Big Meal, comprising two eggs (any style), two pancakes, hash and a choice of ham, bacon or sausage. Like Leann Rimes, this sucker is all about value (Barenaked Ladies alert!!) as the gargantuan pancakes alone justify the pricetag. Available in a simple buttermilk or more flashy fruit-filled version, these ‘cakes were dense, delicious and dripping in syrup. Recommended for fans of both nitrates and carbohydrates.

As for my meal, well, it’s nearly impossible for me to say anything negative about something as innovative as a perogy hash. I have always deemed perogies to be one of Mother Nature’s perfect foods and the mere idea of utilizing them in a breakfast meal is immediately compelling. “How did they pull it off,” you ask? Imagine a deep dish of traditional Slavic dumplings, fried up with a spicy blend of peppers, onions and andouille sausages, then topped with a couple of medium-poached eggs. Perfection? Not until the masterfully upsold side of sour cream arrived to complete the ensemble. I ate voraciously and succumbed to a Ukrainian daydream, complete with cheap vodka, mail-order brides and good-time nuclear fallout.

Complaints? The general consensus amongst the group was that the eggs were somewhat overcooked and the single-slice-of-melon fruit garnish was underwhelming. The coffee was of the tolerable restaurant variety and the OJ looked and tasted like it had been cut with Sunny D, a definite negative for anyone not named Juno. I also really feel that if one is expected to shell out fourteen bones for a perogy hash, the price should damn well include the sour cream.

However, when faced with a great meal and overall fantastic experience, these were minor objections and all in attendance agreed that they’d return without hesitation. Hell, if they took down that grade seven, c-minus student’s, aluminum foil, blinking UFO science project hanging from the ceiling, I might even come back for dinner. ‘Til next time, never forget the most important meal of the day,

Dirty Johnny