F to Seventh Avenue. From two previous eggs Benedict visits, I remembered a gracious hostess, one of the bitchiest waiters I've ever suffered in the Slope, and a somewhat oily prosciutto version of eggs Benedict. Ambient music comprises a mix of the Smiths, Seal, and soul. From a restaurant that's the spawn of a bar, I expected better.
Water is served only on request.
Apple slices and blueberries streaked with chantilly cream were history, replaced by a big sprig of parsley. The hollandaise had an odd cheese flavor. Had it not been so smooth, I would have suspected powdered sauce. Maybe a bottled hollandaise sauce is used. The eggs were overpoached.