The poached egg in a Benedict is there for texture, not as a load-bearing flavor; its lush silkiness is what makes the brunch perennial so sybaritic. The effect is particularly ohhhh-inducing in the Row House Cafe’s version, where it acts a velvety foil to the salty snap of prosciutto; in turn, the fat in the latter doubles the richness (much more than does the traditional Canadian bacon). This opposites-attract thing duplicates the allure of the Row House itself, set as it is among the gleaming, coldly virginal new buildings in gentrifying South Lake Union: The three linked cottages, wooden and ramshackle, with a creaky porch hidden by an eclectic array of greenery, seem to have been transplanted whole from one of Florida’s keys, and not one of the posher ones, either.
The poached egg in a Benedict is there for texture, not as
