by James O'Connor
[This article first appeared in The Agenda #14, January 2006]
Brickway On Wickenden
234 Wickenden Street
Providence
(401) 751-2477
I'm guessing it was sometime after eleven-hundred hours that I received a call about a lunch mission; I was forced to decline. I refuse to skip a meal, especially one of the three most important of the day—the amateur meals as I sometimes like to call them. I reminded my buddy of this, and he was soon swayed from his original plan of lunch, quickly realizing who he was talking to. I take my eating seriously and hell or high water I wasn't starting the day with anything other than breakfast.
I vetoed lunch, so I let my buddy make the final call on where we'd grub; he opted for Brickway. Located right on Wickenden Street in the heart of the artsy section, Brickway is diagonally across from the Coffee Exchange, between Utrecht art supply store and Z-Bar. The restaurant stands in the heart of one the trendiest areas of the city, nestled amongst a stretch of storefront colonials, an artsy splash of diversity through which people from every walk of life pass on foot, bike or car. I find it hard not to fantasize about the early history of America as I travel through the brick alleyway leading to the side entrance. Stepping in, one finds a crowd of mixed age, thought and nationality in a one-room bustle of color and décor. Upon sitting I realize that the table is so tiny that arrangements will be necessary if I want to fit my keys on top of it. Both the tables and chairs are far more compact than I like to deal with, but they're the best that could be done within the space available.
I wasn't paying much attention to the specials board on my way in because I usually like working off the menu. Before stepping in I knew I was going to get fucked on the portions. On top of that I slept late and I may not get a second breakfast in, so I went somewhat lumberjack. They have a pretty good selection of three egg omelets—not too much for size but with some crazy ideas on what's in them: salmon, chicken, lox, etc. I went with one of the chicken ones; they have more traditional varieties but the fancy ones are a few lengths ahead of the race. My omelet came with toast and home fries; I then sprung for the banana pancakes as a second round draft pick. I figured I'd stick to the ice water to wash it all down since coffee milk wasn't an option and we weren't lucky enough to get the waitress who offers to fix you a bizarro iced coffee concoction that actually comes pretty close to tasting like coffee milk.
With the pressure of ordering over, I had a chance to appreciate my surroundings. I felt that the cozy size and tight arrangement of the restaurant complemented the atmosphere. This compactness became even more apparent as I reached to the table next to me for a packet of jelly, all while eyeing my order casually traveling towards me. A no-name brand jelly—damn, where's Smucker's or Welch's when I need it? There was no time to worry about that as the plates slowly were lowered to the table and the battle of elbow room began. The sub-par jelly almost destroyed the concept of their perfectly buttered toast; it doesn't spread well so I instinctively hunted for a couple of extra packets. Luckily the toast came in several varieties to pick up where the nickel and dime shit left off. I opted for wheat because it kind of adds that living-off-the-land, hippie commune vibe.
The omelet boasted three eggs, chicken, bacon and several other dainty ingredients; it had a fancy name neither I nor my stomach remembers—not anything to write home about. I knew it wasn't going to be very big, but it also lacked the TLC you need in any good omelet. Although tasty, I found myself wondering if this fucking thing went down a conveyor belt. The whole structure became loose as soon as a utensil hit it, and the contents were layered rather than randomly mixed, which gave every ingredient its own temperature and took away from the harmony that should have been developed though the multitude of ingredients. The home fries were good—not great and far from bad, but room for improvement was clear. They didn't seem like frozen ones, but they could have used some onions, and I personally like my home fries a little greasier. The whole meal had temperature problems. I like my shit piping hot or freezing cold and that wasn't the case with anything here, from the ice water to the omelet; it's a mistake that could so easily be corrected. Then there was the triple stack of banana pancakes, often a safe hand to play in a trendy breakfast joint. Similar to the omelet, I felt the novelty approach to pancakes worked well within the restaurant's artsy niche. A great blend of overripe bananas transformed into a chunky medley within the pancake batter. They looked like absolute salvation as I stared into their powdered sugar vortex. I sampled them first without any syrup, just to see what they had to offer. I added a dash of butter which really made them speak; if only there were more. Although they weren't “Uncle Buck” sized, I discovered an appreciation for them nonetheless.
Needless to say the plates where cleaned in no time and the bill was dropped; it came to $22.10 before the tip. The waitress did her job and I can't complain, but I'd be willing to bet if she was more on top of her game she could have dragged that food out as soon as it was done, solving a majority of the temperature issues. In addition she brought shit out in several trips which took away from the style points. However, she was pleasant and easy on the eyes, so in comparison to some places I've been, I must tip my hat to the service. Overall, the food at Brickway can go either way, but you can't argue with the atmosphere.
