You have to wonder if you're getting a little predictable when you walk into a restaurant (say, 821 Cafe) at 9:30 and the server looks at you and says, "You're not getting nachos for breakfast, are you?"
No, smartypants, I'm not. It has to be 10:45 or later in order for me to feel justified in ordering nachos (and calling it brunch) without grossing people out.
My photographer friend had invited me to breakfast and arrived with an impressively big camera (the guy at the next stool noting that, "Boy, have you got a big lens," surely something every guy wants to hear). It took him a few moments to take in the splendor of the new 821; it was his first visit since the move and renovation.
"I don't know if I like it," he said uneasily. "It looks so...clean. And bright." That's sort of the beauty of it: the old tables, chairs and stools, but all in a pristine new room. And with the same mostly punk music always playing, although we did hear some vintage Tears for Fears and the Fixx this morning.
Friend got eggs and the pancakes, a stack nearly as impressively big as his camera and I put together a Breakfast Platter (any four sides), consisting of bacon, fresh fruit, an everything bagel and sausage patties. Not a black bean in sight.
Not your typical breakfast of champions, but plenty good enough to dim the memory of the nachos I wasn't having.
Besides, I don't want them to think they have me pegged.
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