Name: Snob Amsterdam
Address: Thorbeckeplein 15, Amsterdam, 1017 CS, NL
Telephone: 06 22764622
Rating: 3.6

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Half a toasted English muffin, a round of Canadian bacon or ham, a poached egg and a spoonful of hollandaise: eggs Benedict is the New York brunch dish that tests three techniques on one plate and lets you see which the kitchen cannot do. Two origin stories compete, both from Manhattan in the 1890s: one credits a hungover stockbroker named Lemuel Benedict ordering the combination at the Waldorf, the other a regular at Delmonico's named Mrs LeGrand Benedict, and neither can be proved. What is certain is that the dish spread through hotel breakfast rooms in the first half of the twentieth century and became the anchor of the American brunch menu after the 1960s. Its variations follow a pattern: Florentine with spinach, Royale with smoked salmon, Chesapeake with crab cake, and so on, each swapping the meat and keeping the muffin, the egg and the sauce.

The hollandaise is the hard part and the one most often faked. Egg yolks are whisked with a little water or lemon juice over gentle heat until thick and pale, then warm clarified butter is added slowly, whisking, until the sauce is glossy and coats a spoon; it is finished with lemon, salt and a pinch of cayenne and held warm, never hot, for no more than an hour. The eggs are poached in barely simmering water with a splash of vinegar, three minutes for a set white and a liquid yolk, and trimmed of their ragged edges. The muffin is split with a fork, not a knife, so the surface is craggy, and toasted; the bacon is warmed in a pan until the edges colour. Assembly is fast: muffin, meat, egg, a generous spoon of hollandaise, a dusting of paprika or chives, and the plate goes out immediately because a poached egg does not wait.

Cut the egg first: the yolk should run and the white should be fully set, with no clear jelly around it. Then taste the hollandaise on its own: it should be warm, buttery and sharp with lemon, thick enough to sit on the egg without sliding off, and it should not taste of raw egg or of nothing. Mark down a sauce that has split into oily curds, a sauce from a packet or made with a blender shortcut that tastes mainly of butter, a hard yolk, a cold muffin, a soggy muffin that was topped too early, and ham cut so thin it vanishes. Two eggs is a portion. Hash browns or potatoes on the side are standard and do not count. A kitchen that can send out a Benedict with the sauce glossy and the yolk running at eleven on a Sunday morning, under pressure, has earned a high score.

Eggs Benedict

Cornmeal cooked in butter and then beaten with a stringy local cheese until the whole pan pulls into long elastic threads: kuymak is the Black Sea breakfast dish of Trabzon and Rize, eaten from the pan with bread torn off a loaf. Inland and in Erzurum the same preparation is called mıhlama, and the two names are used loosely, with locals arguing about whether the difference is the flour, the cheese or nothing at all. It is a shepherd's and farmer's food, built from three things the region has in abundance, maize, butter and cheese, and it has become the dish visitors to the eastern Black Sea are told to try first. Its closest relative abroad is the aligot of the Auvergne, which does the same thing with potato instead of corn.

The cheese is the whole argument. The traditional choice is kolot or minci, fresh unsalted or lightly salted Black Sea cheeses with a high melting stretch, or the aged Trabzon kaşarı; outside the region cooks substitute young kaşar, mozzarella or a mix, which stretches but tastes of less. Plenty of butter, ideally the region's tereyağı, is melted in a shallow copper or steel pan, a few spoonfuls of fine cornmeal are stirred in and toasted for a minute until it smells nutty, then hot water is added and the mixture cooked to a thick porridge. The cheese goes in grated or crumbled, off the boil, and is beaten continuously with a wooden spoon over low heat for several minutes until it has melted into the corn and the pan is one glossy mass that lifts off the base in a sheet and stretches when pulled. It is served in the pan it was made in, still bubbling, with a pool of butter on top.

The stretch is the test: a spoon lifted from the pan should pull a long, unbroken thread, and the mass should be smooth, not grainy or separated. Taste for butter and for cheese with some character; a bland, rubbery stretch means mozzarella, and an oily puddle means the cheese was overheated and split. The corn should be cooked through, with no raw floury taste, and the dish should be salted by the cheese rather than by hand. Mark down kuymak that has set into a solid block by the time it reaches the table, a thin, soupy version, flour instead of cornmeal, and any plate that arrives lukewarm, because this is a dish with a life of about five minutes. Bread should be plentiful and fresh, and a glass of tea is the only thing that follows.

Kuymak

Kadaif is the Bosnian syrup pastry made from shredded kadayıf threads: two layers of butter-soaked strands pressed into a tray with a filling of chopped walnuts between them, baked until the top is crisp and golden, and drenched in a lemon syrup while hot. It belongs to the family of Ottoman sweets that Bosnia kept after four centuries of Turkish rule, alongside baklava, tulumba and hurmašice, and in Sarajevo and Mostar it is sold by the square in the slastičarne, the pastry shops, and made at home for Eid, weddings and slava feasts. The Turkish tel kadayıf is the same raw material, but Bosnian kadaif is its own dish: walnuts rather than pistachios, a heavier soak of syrup, often a spoon of cinnamon or clove in it, and a cut into squares or diamonds like baklava rather than the small round nests of Greek kataifi.

The threads are made from a thin wheat batter dribbled onto a hot rotating plate, and most kitchens now buy them fresh or frozen from a bakery. The strands are pulled apart, loosened and mixed with a generous amount of melted butter, close to a third of their weight, until every thread is coated; half goes into a buttered tray in an even layer, pressed down firmly, then a layer of coarsely chopped walnuts, sometimes mixed with a little sugar, then the rest of the threads, pressed again and often brushed with more butter. It bakes at around 180°C for forty to fifty minutes until the top is deep gold and crisp through. The syrup, sugar and water boiled with lemon juice and sometimes a cinnamon stick or a few cloves, is cooled and poured over the pastry the moment it leaves the oven, so that it hisses and is absorbed; the tray rests for several hours, ideally overnight, before cutting.

A good square shows three clear layers when cut: crisp threads, a dense band of walnut, crisp threads again, all of it amber from the butter and syrup. The top should still have some crunch after the soak, the bottom should be soft and syrupy without a pool of liquid in the tray, and the sweetness, which is considerable, should be cut by the lemon and carried by the walnut. Mark down a kadaif that is uniformly soggy, which means too much syrup or syrup poured onto a cold pastry, one that is dry and chaff-like from too little butter, a mean walnut layer, scorched threads on top, syrup that tastes only of sugar, and a tray that has been cut the same day so the layers slide apart. Served at room temperature with strong Bosnian coffee it is at its best; chilled it is leaden.

Kadaif

Modern Kadayif with Pistachio

Visually appealing but missed the mark in flavor. The overuse of salty pistachios overpowered the dessert, creating an odd balance for something meant to be sweet. Texture and presentation aside, the classic version easily outshines this twist. Wouldn’t go for it again.

Kuymak with Black Truffle

A modern take that doesn’t quite hit the mark for fans of the traditional. While it’s enjoyable when hot, it lacks the rich, buttery depth of real Black Sea kuymak. The truffle concept is interesting, but the portion was too small to elevate the dish. A pinch of salt would have helped bring out the flavors. Worth trying once for curiosity, but it won’t replace the original.

Eggs Benedict with Sucuk

A bold and satisfying twist on a classic. The spicy sucuk added great flavor, and the yogurt brought a refreshing contrast. Eggs were poached perfectly, and the bread at the base really pulled everything together. If the sucuk had been tucked inside the bread to keep it warm throughout, this could’ve been near perfect. Definitely worth trying again.

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