The Sheridan Room **2.5/5 Stars

The Sheridan Room has big shoes to fill, occupying the old Modern in Northeast. It's all good. Where there was nothing, there is now something, something that also serves breakfast, and that's cool.

First scan of the bar area reveals an old receiver, turntable and vinyl collection. There is some evidence of life here.

But, aside from the warm, waxy bar, the ambiance leaves me feeling uneasy. The dining area is stark. Sterile. All hard lines and hard wood. Church pews and cold bathroom tile. Mirrors that creepily reflect the barren walls. I prefer to pray to the brunch gods on an altar where my ass doesn't fall asleep after one drink.

Nothin' sterile about these broads.

Suprise! Menu here is real basic. Say that with a drawl, like rulllll.... basic. Basic doesn't necessarily mean bad. I wish all the fancy ass cocktail bars I frequent would get back to basics and stop putting 18 ingredients into a glass with a square ice cube that takes up 85% of the space and charging $25 for it. People don't need myriad options. They need to stumble in with one eye open and half a functioning brain, see "basic breakfast",  grunt and bow their heads into a glass of cheap champagne and OJ rimmed with Pop Rocks. Yes, I said Pop Rocks.

That's real OJ, fool.

In all honesty the food here is totally decent. My salmon scramble was light and fresh and flavorful. Them greens, tho!

The basic was basic, but not laden with grease. I eat enough brunch that my arteries welcome a "cleaner" option.

And Kelly said the frittata was jammin'.

So, what up, Sheridan? Seems like you are tryin' a bit too hard to not try too hard. So you laid down a bunch of tile, walled up some booths and put a stack of records on the wall. I get it. I ain't mad at it. (© N. Paglia, 2016) Just put on some Floyd and pour me another.

That glass block, though.