WHEN I FIRST heard about this Charles character, he sounded like a dick. There was plenty of hullabaloo about him having no phone number, the sign hanging outside advertising the restaurant that used to live in his space and all sorts of nonsense that made me figure if someone was going to work so hard to keep me from seeing him, perhaps I shouldn’t. And so for a while I didn’t.

But it seems that, recently, Chuck had a bit of an attitude adjustment (he also got a new chef, Jason Zukas)—the paper came down off of the windows, though reservations still must be made by email. When I decided to give him a chance, we had some great times together. I think I might actually like him.

On a recent morning, the West Village was alive with Lululemon-clad ladies strolling, gays gaying and babies being wheeled about. It was picturesque and put me in the exact right mood for brunch, which Charles—well, Restaurant Charles—began offering late in the summer. Now, light soaks the main room to reveal that the restaurant is quite pretty.

Even more attractive were the oversized bloody Marys ($10) that went cruising by with the equally delicious-looking waiters. Not quite ready for the hair of the dog that seemed to still be biting me, I opted for an iced double espresso ($5). No longer parched, I ordered the homemade breadbasket, a $10 pile of carbs that came with a most incredible banana spread, and made very little conversation with my companion until nothing was left except crumbs.

Well, all of that eating sure got us hungry, so we moved onto an order of ricotta pancakes ($12).You see, once upon a time my friend Colleen and I were eating brunch in Williamsburg. As I scanned the menu, deciding how well hollandaise sauce would mix with last night’s Jameson still sitting in my stomach, she poked me in the arm and asked, “Pancake appetizer?” I was floored. “What do you mean?” I asked, head cocked like a confused dog. “You know, a plate of pancakes for the table,” the table being the two of us, “that we can split while we wait for our eggs.”Years of brunches spent fretting over whether I wanted sweet or savory suddenly seemed a moronic waste of time, and the pancake appetizer became a mainstay of my diet. The version I had at Charles was top notch, fluffy, sweet and creamy—if pancake appetizers aren’t your thing, I would have complete faith in recommending this dish as your entire meal.

The yolky side of things was, upon first glance, basic.There were baked eggs, omelets, “eggs in the hole” and a mess of lunch-type dishes (lobster BLT, a burger, a salad for those of us who eat such things). I settled on a ramekin of baked eggs with bacon and Gruyere ($12) that anyone would have been proud to serve.The bacon was cut thick and the cheese was doled out generously; accompanied by multigrain toast and some greens, there was nothing not to like about