Was I the only New Yorker who hadn't been to The Spotted Pig? Apparently so, because when I divulged this to my girlfriends over dinner, I got a couple of chuckles. In order to best avoid the dinner rush, my friends and I arrived at The Spotted Pig around 5:30 p.m. on Saturday night. Foreseeing a two-hour wait from some of the horror stories that I'd heard, I was pleasantly surprised when our table was ready for us by 6:15 p.m.

Situated on a picturesque, tree-lined West Village street, The Spotted Pig is adorned with unfinished hardwood floors, exposed brick walls, an old-fashioned mahogany bar, menu specials written on a large brasserie mirror and decor consisting of shabby chotchkies and mismatched plants.

To start, I ordered the deviled eggs followed by the infamous Spotted Pig burger (that I'd read so many raves about). The "eggs" (note the pluralization) were just one whole egg sliced in half. The cooked yolks were mixed with a zesty mustard blend, crunchy green chives and sprinkled with sea salt. Though I've had better versions, these devils were tasty and just "enough" substance to whet my appetite. The moment of truth came as my medium-cooked burger arrived. Enveloped between a grilled brioche bun was a generous portion of beef topped with an ample lathering of pungent and salty Roquefort cheese. Accompanying the sandwich was a mound of homemade shoestring fries, lightly dusted with sea salt and rosemary. Was the burger all it was cracked up to be? Indeed, it was. Though I felt that the amount of Roquefort used was slightly overpowering, the beef patty itself consisted of the highest quality ground meat, producing a juicy, velvety, melt-in-your-mouth masterpiece.

My experience at The Spotted Pig was virtually liberated of anything negative that I'd heard. I found the service to be excellent and our wait-time minimal. The food was pretty impressive and I will absolutely return.

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Until we eat again,

Lindsay, The Lunch Belle