On one side of Forbes Avenue sits Cherries Diner, epitomizing tradition. On another sits Bluebird Kitchen, blinding eyes and palates with sharp, futuristic decor, and a forward-looking menu. Yet, both are comfortable and appealing to me in every way and in their own way. Will Old Pittsburgh be alienated by the shiny novelty of Bluebird Kitchen? Will Young Pittsburgh embrace Bluebird Kitchen and reject Cherries as a relic? Can they coexist? I truly hope so.
The other morning, a change in my schedule presented me with no other breakfast mission than to try Bluebird Kitchen.
Being a blue-collar man in the morning, I was hollow in the belly. My innards were disturbed and gnarling.
My first meal consisted of Sweet Potato Corned Beef Hash (a small order), Pastrami Cured Salmon, Black and White Trifle, and freshly-squeezed orange juice.
The hash was unorthodox, resembling dirty pasta in a cardboard Chinese takeout container. This was not a heavy, thick, oily hash one gets from a can nor was it crisped via a flat top grill. Not that I don't enjoy those manners of corned beef hash as well, but this put my culinary mind in a trick. Instead of cubes drowning in a muddy sea of red meat, the potatoes were stringy, again, like spaghetti, and bits of corned beef and bacon merely acted as flavorings with those potato tendrils being the central component. Was an Asian influence at work here? I don't know, but I do know that sugar, salt, and starch butted heads within that box and created a very enthralling side dish that was almost grotesque to behold yet possessive of gorgeous flavor and an odd but welcome al dente/brittle texture.
And if I didn't think that breakfast could get more complex, there was THAT sandwich...
I'd been craving salmon and cream cheese in some configuration for a little while now and BK's (not he, the Burger King who should be killed) satisfied that yen tenfold. The "house cured" salmon tasted like a wonderfully warmed-through, smooth, soft, silky sashimi that was only rounded-out by the inclusion of the mild, white velvet of the cream cheese spread. Cucumber brought the crunch factor, oven-dried tomato acted as the natural sugars, and with a pretzelesque bagel came the chew and the brine. A cool (literally as well as figuratively), calculated, supraintelligent breakfast sandwich, PCS owns the sunrise much like the hash did; with subtle tastes and punctuating mouthfeel.
I came close to ordering the Breakfast Bread Pudding, but when I saw that cup with the decadent to behold ebony/ivory filling and was told what as in it, my plans were diverted.
I get the feeling that some stale brownies needed to be used up (BK was selling ones of the mint variety), and if that was the case, then there was no more brilliant way than to break them up into bricks, suffocate them with a luxuriously corrupt funereal white buttercream, and rain chocolate syrup death onto this grave for the day-old and baked. My pupils disappeared as I scooped each spoonful into my jaws as evidenced by the morbidly curious stares I received from passersby while seated near a window. Too debauched to be had on such a radiant cockcrow, morning soon fell to mourning...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nMg80LiH_kY
And after finishing my deathly dessert, I turned to the young woman that waited on me, threw two thumbs up in the air, and cracked a smile, which she returned, this edible battle for my soul only replenishing it. The cup of tart, nutritious, pressed afresh sunshine that was the orange juice rejuvenated my spirits further.
Speaking of which, the employees are decidedly hipster sans the slack, snobbishness, or casual disdain. I felt as if these tattooed, fashionable whippersnappers were waiting for me to stop in so as to impress me. If so (yeah, riiight, like they were just dying for Yelp's Darren W. to come by for all of these months), they succeeded. Their prices are affordable. Their fare is evidently creative and appetizing. Their service is relatively keen, clever, and kindly. Their local-first ethic is admirably conscientious of the land, sea, and air. Their all-inclusive enthusiasm is undeniable. What minion of the Redhead coos "Hellloooo" to every single patron as they walk in the door and towards the counter like she's a friend of theirs?
So, why exactly are you still dancin' with The Clown before work? Break the habit. Turn to the Bird. read more