So I found the hinge to be very interesting as a concept: arthouse/brunch nook in, like, Kensington(?).
I had a couple of cups of so-so coffee and a Belgian Waffle that promised a topping of the week (for a couple of bucks extra). Our waitress, when asked what the topping of the week was, said something like "um, we have bananas and strawberries i think."
I ordered it anyway; i was feeling waffly. And, y'know, it was a perfectly acceptable waffle. As i placed my order, i was thinking, maybe i'd like a side of something to go along with it, but before i could re-peruse the menu, the waitress had grabbed the menu out of my hand.
The syrup came in a rather artfully designed maple leaf-shaped bottle (though said bottle did have a cob web, as pointed out by Beth and M.J., strung from the top to one of the leaf points).
The clientele was an interesting mix of gentrifying hipsters and old-school neighborhoodies. I guess my biggest complaint was that our watiress was, well, kinda brusque. along with the aforementioned menu-snatching, she later apologized for taking so long with a check we hadn't even asked for yet (we were still all chatting quite amiably).
Highlights included M.J. wondering aloud just what was in the "goat omelette" as specified on the specials board, and Beth entering the place decked out in her motorcycle jacket after parking her pink scooter out front.
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How did it go? I ran seven miles for the first time in my entire life.
So I found the hinge to be very interesting as a concept: arthouse/brunch nook in, like, Kensington(?).
I had a couple of cups of so-so coffee and a Belgian Waffle that promised a topping of the week (for a couple of bucks extra). Our waitress, when asked what the topping of the week was, said something like "um, we have bananas and strawberries i think."
I ordered it anyway; i was feeling waffly. And, y'know, it was a perfectly acceptable waffle. As i placed my order, i was thinking, maybe i'd like a side of something to go along with it, but before i could re-peruse the menu, the waitress had grabbed the menu out of my hand.
The syrup came in a rather artfully designed maple leaf-shaped bottle (though said bottle did have a cob web, as pointed out by Beth and M.J., strung from the top to one of the leaf points).
The clientele was an interesting mix of gentrifying hipsters and old-school neighborhoodies. I guess my biggest complaint was that our watiress was, well, kinda brusque. along with the aforementioned menu-snatching, she later apologized for taking so long with a check we hadn't even asked for yet (we were still all chatting quite amiably).
Highlights included M.J. wondering aloud just what was in the "goat omelette" as specified on the specials board, and Beth entering the place decked out in her motorcycle jacket after parking her pink scooter out front.
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