In a city already awash with brunch spots, do we need another? How about in Logan Square, a neighborhood already at the critical “hipster”-to-“chicken and waffle” ratio of 2-to-1?

Maybe we don’t need one,… but our recent positive experience at Jam seems to point that another one can’t hurt. And hey, waiting an hour for a table at one of the other spots on the block sucks. At least you won’t have to wait to get in here…

Hold on! What? How long until a table’s ready? Oh jeez… 

This is NOT what it looks like on Sunday morning. Expect another row of tables squeezed in here. (source)

The new spot from Chef Jeffrey Mauro — formerly of Charlie Trotter’s and North Pond — was cramped with a line out the door on the late Sunday morning we stopped by. Jam is cash only and reservation-free, but these do not seem to have slowed business; don’t come expecting a quiet, relaxed morning.

We were lucky enough to skip the line and snag two spots at the bar that had just opened up, but the bar stools were uncomfortable plastic without backs and there were no hooks for hats, coats or scarves. The bar overlooks an exciting open kitchen to the side, but there is little room for servers to put in and pick up drinks without stepping on customers. In an already crowded dining room with us sitting awkwardly on our winter coats and stepping continually on everything else we brought, the bar space was an overall major design fail.

The kitchen, however, didn’t seem particularly phased by the number of guests. They ran a calm, tight ship even as the servers scuttled about and navigated the tiny gaps between chairs. And this is good news, because the yummy, yummy food they were pumping out makes up for some of the restaurant’s other shortcomings.

Nom, nom, nom… (source)

A custard French toast came with macerated and brandied cherries that had the tartness perfectly tempered and was topped by an oh-so-subtle lime whipped cream with peppercorns. The two über-soft slices of bread melted into one and the custard sweetened things enough so that no syrup was needed. (Or offered.) A smokey venison bratwurst made a great off-kilter side.

As good as the French toast was, the Scotch egg was better. The unusual offering covered a warm egg in sausage and breading before deep frying it to perfection. Served atop a frisée salad with some pickled asparagus for a touch of crunch, the melding of such different worlds provided a light, yet hearty meal. This is the sort of dish a restaurant can make a name with.

We can’t say we’re excited for the wait times that we’ll have to endure in the future, but that’s just a reinforcement that others realize how good the food is too. We’ll be back soon, though, to suffer through.