4257 Nicollet Ave
Minneapolis, MN 55409
I hate getting my hair cut. Part of it is allowing a stranger to touch my head while trying to think of things to say other than, "Hey, get your hands off me." Once, when I was thirteen, and awkward, a hair stylist told me that my face was too plain for the haircut I had, and then he proceeded to give me a stiff helmet of hair that would have better suited a grandmother. A big part of why I hate getting my hair cut is that I have to sit facing a mirror for an hour, watching the uncomfortable look on my face as I try not to think of myself as "too plain" and tolerate someone else's hands on my head. Given all of that, I was not happy to find my seat at the Corner Table facing a wall-sized mirror. Was I going to have to watch myself eat? Ick. I sized up the people on the other side of the table, decided Judy was my best bet, and begged her to trade seats with me. From the far more pleasant back-to-the-mirror seat, the restaurant atmosphere was gentle, soft green walls with minimalist maroon colored paitings, nice wooden tables and a stone floor.
No one else was in the restaurant when we got there. In fact, we had to send Rachael to look at the sign, because we were afraid they weren't open. After we had perused the menus, a family sat down outside (nice outdoor seating, if Jimmy would ever allow us to sit outside), and later still a couple of women took another indoor table. Still, it was an ominous sign. Was the food that bad? Fortunately, no.
Items on the menu were about $9, with an assortment of high-end breakfast options as well as an al a carte menu from which you could create a traditional breakfast. Jimmy had the Juevos Rancheros, which he said were "good". Sarah ate the Farmer's Breakfast including thick slices of local ham, which we all sampled and liked. Rachael and I had the vegetarian hash, which was too small and which Rachael regretted ordering as soon as the words left her mouth because she realized too late that she wanted meat. Judy had a daily scramble special with spinach, tomatoes and parmesan. Beau got French Toast because he was tempted by the bottles of real maple syrup on the table when we got there. He described it as too dry and "too sweet" - two words Rachael had never before heard him say. He did, however, like the homemade sausage patties. Nearly every plate left the table empty. Jimmy and I both agreed that, even though it was a late breakfast, we'd still have room for lunch, because the portions were small.
Our overall grade was a B. Sarah, happy with her ham, gave it more, and Beau, still bitter about the too-sweet French toast, gave it less. Judy's grade reflected the seat I made her use, because, really, nobody needs to watch themselves eat breakfast, but she did like the food. We were a satisfied breakfast club for the second week in a row. Unprecedented.