June

• Cuisine(s): French
• Parking: No Parking

Description

June is fucking rad: it's affordable. It's tasty as fuck. The décor is stylish, and the service is competent and understated. The raisins in our salad were as syrupy and plump and as potent as a leprechaun's testicles, and the cheese was so fucking pastoral it was like the culinary equivalent of a Bob Ross painting. The braised lamb neck with hand cut pasta was a springtime riot: A nest of thin soft egg noodles dotted periodically with brilliant verdant peas, crunchy chunks of celery, maybe some diced parsley, and sweet cubes of carrot. A chocolate pot du crème ($7) was foamy and so light it was almost effervescent, as if your taste buds took a bubble bath in Nestle Quik, and topped with a delicate quenelle of whipped cream. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. Is June going to end up flawed somehow, like its predecessor at this location, Cremant? Is June like a really hot girl who steals things for fun? I doubt it, because June rules.