If you’re itching for a place to fall off the Atkins wagon, or if you have a sweet tooth, have we found a place for you. A stroll away from Sunday afternoon shows or concerts in Grand Center, Nadoz Café’s brunch hits its full stride with its desserts. One could eat the very reasonable brunch tab, $20, in them alone. And there’s no reason why you can’t park at their lot across and slightly north on Spring Avenue and stroll on to culture afterwards.
And let us quickly point out that the name of this place is pronounced NAH-doze. If you have trouble remembering that, and I do, just recall that it’s in the old Coronado Hotel: Coronado = nado’s = Nadoz.
The room, like the other public rooms of the dowager hotel, is lovely. South-facing French windows drench the tables in light, but the ceilings are high enough, and the room of such a size, that sunglasses are unnecessary for all but the most severe of hangovers.
Sweets aside, the lunch items generally surpassed the breakfast choices. Applewood smoked bacon was excellent, but sausage and the roasted new potatoes were middle of the road, and eggs Benedict, which suffer particular indignities in any chafing dish, didn’t do any better here. But press on.
Quiche still suffers from the curse of the ’70s about Real Men. The fact is, good quiche is delicious and hearty. And this one, creamy and laced with ham, rested on a fine crust, all satisfyingly flavorful and equally fulfilling in terms of texture. In retrospect, that crust was a hint of what was to come.
Slices of pork loin, a cut notoriously easy to cook to the texture of a shingle, turned out to be very tender and tasty. Shrimp risotto had been made with a rich seafood broth, and I liked it a great deal, despite a texture that was denser than it should have been, another result, I suspect, of the chafing-dish effect. Poached salmon sat near salad, fresh fruit and cheese. Nearby, omelets and Belgian waffles were being turned out.
It’s probably fortunate that the sweets were at opposite sides of the room; otherwise traffic flow would be like Olive Boulevard and Interstate 270 on a rainy morning. Traditional breakfast pastries awaited at one end; the very French-style desserts rested on the bar on the east side. On the breakfast side were brioche, the first time in a very long time I’ve seen them on a brunch line, and something called orange blossom beignets. I didn’t get much orange flavor, but they were light and puffy, ungreasy despite their deep frying, and rolled in sugar. Delicious and nearly addictive. Scones came in blackberry and chocolate, and there was more chocolate in the form of triple chocolate muffins, which were an odd trapezoidal shape. The blackberry scone was near perfect, moist and crumbly and yearning for a generous blob of Devon cream.
The more formal desserts included little bite-sized pastries, like custard-filled éclairs and tiny choux-pastry swans with whipped cream. The latter were filled recently enough that the pastries were still crisp, delicious little mouthfuls of fun. Moist bread pudding sported a butterscotchy whiskey sauce. My two favorites, though, were a lemon Chiboust cake – that is, a lemon cake filled with a lemon mousse – and a dangerously seductive pumpkin cheesecake sitting on a layer of chocolate.
Our server was attentive, and the coffee was very good. This is a very worthwhile spot in the Grand Center neighborhood, which has heretofore been a vast wasteland on Sunday mornings.
This article appears in March 2024.