Meli Cafe

Meli Cafe

301 S Halstead

6am-4pm

My dude and I hit this place up for breakfast today. I found it on Urban Spoon, we checked it out online and thought it looked amazing. We rolled in around noon and the place was packed. Apparently this is common, because they have those awful buzzer boxes that tell you when your table is ready - kind of ridiculous when the waiting area is about 10 square feet. But whatevs.

The menu is extensive, and incredibly appealing. In fact, there were so many delectable options that we were on the verge of ordering three breakfasts. Thankfully good sense prevailed. In addition to omlettes, skillets, benedicts, pancakes, french toasts, crepes, and lots else, there's also a fresh juice bar. There's a juice drink made cabbage and wheat grass. If you try it, let me know if it's good. 

The coffee, Lavazza, is fabulous, but they don't seem to be into refills, which is unfortunate. The prices are on the steeper side of affordable, but they're not outrageous. But an entree and coffee will probably put you in the $15, rather than $10, range. 

Now, the food. I ordered the classic benedict, which was incredibly disappointing. I'm coming to realize that I don't know of any places in Chi-town that do a truly amazing classic eggs benedict. I LOVE the Eggs Bite at Bite, and the prosciutto benedict at Toast,  but sometimes you just want plain old eggs benedict (if you're in DC and have such a desire, I highly recommend The Diner in Adams Morgan - marvelous). But anyways, back to Meli's take on the problem. The canadian bacon was super thick cut which, as you may recall, is not really my thing. Strike one. Strike two, the Hollandaise was really lemony - again, something that a lot of people like, but I'm more into the buttery variant with a hint of lemon, myself. So yeah, the eggs didn't really do it for me. The potatoes that came with it were good, but not amazing. I mean, they were tasty and all, I just wasn't particularly blown away by them.

My man, being the genius he is, ordered the Down at the Farm skillet, and that, dear friends, was everything a skillet ought to be. Bacon, ham and sausage with onions peppers and tomatoes, blended in blissful harmony with potatoes and lots of cheese, two eggs on top. It was fantastic. I persuaded him to let me eat half of it. It was great.

So Meli's, I think I'll need to revisit. I'm interested in sampling their french toast and crepes, both of which look fabulous. I think I'll definitely avoid going on weekends, when I suspect the wait is unbearable, and meanwhile, I'll continue my quest for the perfect eggs benny elsewhere.

Chicago's House of Chicken and Waffle

3947 South Martin Luther King Dr

Chicago, IL 60653

You thought this blog was dead, and honestly, so did I, but then I experienced the greatness that is Chicago's Chicken and Waffle. Holy sweet Jesus on a Sunday, this place is amazing. A-mazing.

First off, if you've never had fried chicken and waffles for breakfast, you might not realize what an amazing combination they are. Yes, you're pretty much guaranteed a severe case of the Itis, but it's worth it. And how! And this place, I tell you what, they do it up right. The chicken literally falls off the bone, and the breading is fabulously light and flaky. The waffles are wonderful, cinnamon vanilla goodness that beautifully sets off the flavors of the chicken. So the place lives up to its raison d'etre with aplomb. 

But that's not all! I went on an eating rampage and also sampled some other offerings! The scrambled eggs were surprisingly fantastic - moist and flavorful, not like the drab concoctions you so often find. They were so good, I didn't even put hot sauce on them. Then there were the home fries, done up right with peppers and onions, and absolutely delicious. Next, the cheese grits, which were the cheesiest I've ever had, and oh my gosh I'm kind of drooling just thinking about them. But the real crowning glory was the biscuit. The biscuit was decadence itself. It was basically butter transmogrified into crumbly chewy goodness. It was shameless. It was incredible. 

On less important matters, parking is pretty easy to find around there, and while the line appears to be overwhelming, it moves with astonishing speed. The interior is pleasant, although the music is just a mite cheesy (an easy listening cover of Groove is in the Heart? Please.). A lot of yelp reviews complain about the service, but that's because, no offense, yelp reviewers are generally assholes and they ALWAYS complain about the service. The service was excellent - speedy, attentive, everything you'd want. 

Seriously - go check this place out. It's marvelous.

Mel's Diner

Mel's Diner

118 Powhattan Avenue

Essington, PA 19029

Should you be searching for a cheap place to stay in Illadelphia, allow me to recommend that you head west on 95 and take the exit after the airport, where you will find a cluster of cheap motels (such as Motel 6 and Red Roof Inn). It might not seem as exciting as downtown Philly, but believe you me, there is PLENTY of stuff there to keep the avid adventurer amused. There's a bar! And a strip club! And a Harrah's Casino. Oh yes! A Harrah's! And you know what's most amazing about the Harrah's? IT'S NEXT DOOR TO A PRISON. I'm not even kidding. I don't mean next door, like, down the street. I mean they share a parking lot. I mean there are people in that prison who can't sleep at night because their cell is flooded with glaring neon lights. Absolutely mind-blowing. That alone might warrant the drive out there.

But meanwhile, to the east one will also find Mel's Diner, which is just grand, and a FAR tastier alternative to Denny's or the Philly Diner, both of which are nearby, and neither of which have particularly tasty breakfast offerings. Mel's is one big room, rather curiously purporting to possess both a smoking and non-smoking section (this ostensible divide, however, does not prevent the entire place from smelling like a bar). Me, I was thrilled to be able to smoke indoors, but I can certainly imagine a hypothetical patron who would be less pleased. Anyhow. 

The thing about Mel's is, the people are friendly and the food, no joke, is great, not to mention cheap. I can't speak to everything on the menu, which is basically exactly the kind of stuff you'd expect to see at a place like Mel's, no frills or surprises, but man, what I had was tasty. Phenomenal pancakes. Fluffy, chewy, pillowy pancakes of goodness. Which is rare - generally in diners of this ilk one gets those baking soda aftertaste monstrosities. Marvelously crisp thinly sliced bacon. Bottomless coffee that is avidly refilled by the attentive staff. The scrambled eggs I had were admittedly somewhat lackluster, BUT they do have Louisiana Hot Sauce rather than the usual Tabasco, which earns them some major points. 

Alas, I have no pictures to share with you. But honestly, if anything from that breakfast was going to be photographed, more than likely it would have been the GIGANTIC TRUCK parked outside. We assume it belonged to a table of youths with popped collars who arrived shortly after we did. We might have been tempted to make snide comments about them, had we not seen their massive truck. It was a tank. It was amazing. They are obviously awesome guys. 

All rambling aside (NEXT DOOR TO A PRISON, PEOPLE), Mel's is a really lovely breakfast spot. Should you happen to find yourself in the area, stop by.

Jane's

Jane's
1653-1655 W Cortland St.

Chicago, IL 60622

BreakfasT: M-F, 6:30-3

Brunch: Sa/Sun, 10-2:30

I keep finding myself in really classy breakfast places lately. It's kind of weird.

Jane's, despite being somewhat tricky to get to (or at least, I always get mixed up in the process) rarely has much of a wait, and has an extremely elegant interior. Fresh flowers on every table, nice decor - it's a very pleasant place. The menu is also upscale, chipotle sauces, grilled salmon, etc. I may be wrong about this, but it seems to me that the weekday breakfast menu is not identical to the weekend brunch menu, and I think I actually like the weekday breakfast menu more. But I'm basing this on two brunch visits and one breakfast visit that were separated by a sea of almost a year, so I might be wrong. 

Anyhow. Today, I had the 3 eggs sunny side up with andouille hash. Curiously, this was accompanied by a side of potatoes, which seemed somewhat redundant, given the hash, but ok. The eggs were cooked perfectly, and the andouille hash was fairly flavorful, but the potatoes were on the mushy side, which really disappointed me. I had ordered a side of salsa, and this turned out to be a mistake. First off, what I had actually wanted was pico de gallo, it just hadn't occurred to me that this place was so classy as to distinguish between the two. My bad. Anyhow, the salsa was, for starters, warm, which really threw me off. Secondly, it was a smoky kind of sauce that was completely overpowered by a specific herb that for some reason I can't identify, but will probably be tasting for the rest of the day. My companions ordered eggs benedict and the breakfast burrito, and enjoyed them mightily. But their potatoes were mushy too. However! The coffee was fantastic, Intelligentsia brand and bottomless - quite a treat. 

I dunno. I don't wanna be a downer about this place, because it's really quite nice, but I think it suffers from being a little too frou-frou for my taste. If you're going to be frou-frou, I feel, you really need to be delivering some pretty amazing food. And, like so many expensive Chicago dining options, this place doesn't quite live up to itself. The food is good, but not amazing, which makes it seem somewhat pretentious, especially when coupled with the highly elegant, but somewhat formal, interior. It just seems to be taking itself a wee bit too seriously.

Oh, but I should also mention, what with this lovely weather, that they do have outdoor seating options. We were not so fortunate as to secure a space outside, but theoretically, it could be done. Granted, you've got the expressway looming over you, but nonetheless, I'll bet it's pleasant.

Magnolia Cafe

Magnolia Cafe

1224 W Wilson

Chicago, IL 60640

Brunch: Sundays, 10-3

I found this place somewhat by accident, trolling (trawling?) for good brekkies options online. It's way the hell up north on Wilson, and it's a much much classier place than you might expect to find on that street. By which I mean, it's expensive. A bit too expensive for me to enjoy on a regular basis (entrees are around $12). But if you're feeling fancy, you might wanna check it out. It seems to be as yet undiscovered by the breakfasting hordes of Chicago, because there's never been a wait when I've gone, which is a definite bonus. Plus, parking is relatively easy to find, and it's right off the red line.

The menu is gourmet (aka, expect to see wild mushrooms, goat cheese, arugula, and various smoked things) and features a good spread of breakfast fare, including 3 or 4 different benedict options (one of which involves steak), and a plethora of cocktails. There are also weekly specials lovingly described by the servers. Which has the unfortunate effect of making me feel like I'm not nearly classy enough for the place, but that's my own insecurity talking I suppose.

If you go, don't miss the Muffins with Lemon Curd appetizer. It's absolutely divine. The lemon curd is perfection, a silky syllabub of wonderfully tart goodness. The muffins are likewise fantastic, little bundles of crispy-on-the-outside-chewy-on-the-inside delight with a hint of cornmeal and big juicy blueberries. I thought I hated blueberries until I got up the nerve to revisit them at Magnolia. The combination of the slight sweetness of the muffins with the crisp tartness of the lemon curd and the juicy cool explosion of blueberry, wow. I admit to fastidiously scooping the remnants of the curd out of the dish with my finger and licking it clean. You can't take me anywhere.

Sean and I somewhat shamefacedly both ordered eggs benedict (oh Veiled Conceit, the legacy you have left us with).  The english muffin was wonderfully toasted, the poached eggs were spot on, the hollandaise was great but... the slices of ham are frickin' huge. The ham itself is really nice, but the slices are seriously 3/4 of an inch thick, which is just too much for me. But like I said, it's good ham. So it's not the end of the world. 

My only real gripe with the place is that their variant of potatoes is mashed. They're not bad as far as mashed potatoes go, though they're a bit heavy on the dairy for my taste (I understand that this is what a lot of people love in mashed potatoes, but it's just not my thing. The majestic potato does not need to be drowned in butter and cream to taste delicious.). But I just don't really wanna eat mashed potatoes for breakfast. 

Vinci

Vinci

1732 N Halsted St.

Chicago, IL

312-266-1199

One sunny Sunday morning my breakfast date cancelled. All the usual partners in crime and potential replacements were unavailable by some odd chance, so undaunted, I set off into the city alone in search of breakfast satisfaction. I was just gonna go back to Toast, but even the counter was full there. I considered a few other spots, but there was no parking anywhere near them. So I found myself driving south on Halsted, feeling somewhat daunted at this point, when I saw the words "Sunday Brunch". I grabbed a spot at the counter, ie the bar, and chatted with the bartender (whose name I can't for the life of me remember, which is breaking my heart. He's an awesome guy. He's been working there for 7 years. He's from Wooster, Vermont. He did the whole roadie-for-a-band thing for awhile.) as he squeezed gallons of fresh oj. It was a lovely time, but...

Vinci is the quintessential case of the upscale yuppy restaurant that decides to jump on the brunch wagon. From the minute you walk in you realize, there's no love for breakfast here. The interior is quite elegant, but seems stiff and formal in the morning light. It's just not that inviting, no matter how friendly the staff is. There was only one other guy sitting at the counter, and he was way down at the other end. A single tv that was rather strangely crammed into a corner was listlessly airing basketball. The restaurant wasn't empty but neither was it bustling with life - it mostly seemed like uptight rich people performing their luxury. Maybe that's unfair. Sitting at the counter though, I got to hear the staff's complaints, and man, their customers seemed like a pain. I know that servers generally bitch about clientele, but there seemed to be a higher ratio of d-baggery in this place than usual. So yeah, no so much on the atmosphere. I'll bet it'd be nice for dinner though! 

The menu is small but covers all the necessary bases, I guess. To their credit, despite being, in my opinion, imposters in the breakfast arena, someone has clearly put some thought into developing a somewhat unique menu, the Vinci version of things. I ordered the Eggs Benedictine, which involves toasted homemade focaccia, pancetta, poached eggs and fonduta - a kind of fontina fondue sauce. While waiting for that, I was treated to a bread basket with a selection of jams. Classy. The breads were the focaccia and some brioche, and the jams (marmelades?) were orange and rasberry. There was also some whipped butter. Quite tasty. More so, actually, then the entree itself. The eggs were poached to perfection, the fonduta was tasty, but overall, the whole thing was way too salty. I think the problem was actually with the breakfast potatoes, which were actually quite tasty. But somehow about 5 bites into the meal, I could no longer taste anything but salt. Hmmm.

Honestly, why do uptight fancy restaurant insist on doing brunch? Of course one expects the same high quality dining experience, but goddamn it, breakfast is a joyous occasion, not a formal affair. If you can't let your hair down a bit, don't go there. Or maybe I'm just the wrong target audience. Soulless restaurants have their place too, I suppose. Sorry Vinci! You're just not my bag, baby!

The Bongo Room

The Bongo Room

1470 N Milwaukee Ave, Chicago, IL

1152 S Wabash Ave, Chicago, IL

The wait for the Bongo Room tends to be crazy long on weekends, but stop by during the week and it's half-empty and a very pleasant place for breakfast. And actually, I think the food is better on weekdays too - when the kitchen gets slammed, they seem to take it out on the potatoes. Like plenty of other breakfast hot-spots, The Bongo Room suffers from being somewhat over-hyped and a touch on the pricey side, but unlike Orange, the food is actually quite good, and sometimes it's even amazing. The problem with a menu that changes seasonally is that I may never get to taste the absolutely transcendent lemon flapjacks with rasberry coulis and lemon creme that I ate there last summer. Those were some of the tastiest pancakes I've ever had in my life, and I have to say, nothing at the Bongo Room has ever reached those heights since. Their pancake combinations are inspired and interesting (currently on offer: rasberry-oreo flapjacks, strawberry-banana hotcakes, lemon-ricotta pancakes, berry and banana cheesecake flapacks, and white chocolate and caramel covered pretzel pancakes), but none has really called to me in the same way. 

Today I went with the breakfast sandwich, eggs done however you'd like (I went with over medium) on a croissant with Muenster cheese and bacon. The croissant was just the right blend of flaky and chewy, the bacon was perfectly crisped and the eggs, I thought, were just right. Jen, who ordered the vegetarian variant with her eggs done the same way thought that they were a bit too hard, but she may have a different mental gradient when it comes to eggs. The potatoes were great, tender on the inside, crispy on the outside, and well seasoned with an array of herbs - I think rosemary was involved? Yum.

While my initial adoration of the Bongo Room faded when the lemon flapjacks vanished, I still like the place, and am happy to stop by on a weekday for a leisurely meal. I definitely wanna get back there to try the breakfast burrito, which sounds great, even though burritos generally intimidate me (they're so big!) and seem like way too much for breakfast. While I think that the place is somewhat over-rated, I'm kind of happy that most people uncritically accept it as best and keep it packed on the weekends, thus freeing up space at superior establishments for me. 

Toast

Holy craptown y'all, this place is amazing. 

Toast

746 W Webster Ave, Chicago, IL

Sean and I were on the prowl for some brekkies late on a Saturday and stumbled upon this place pretty much by accident, having ruled out places that had lines going out the door. But when we got inside, a very nice man told us the wait was 45 minutes. Sean grumbled a lot and wanted to leave, but I persuaded him not to, and told the nice man we'd be happy to take a seat at the counter if that would speed things along. Sidenote - I don't generally give my name at restaurants, because I hate dealing with pronunciation issues, nor have I patented a fake restaurant name yet (despite being told by a very drunk man at the Hideout Block Party last summer that one simply MUST have a fake name for restaurants), so I got to be inordinately amused by the fact that the guy assumed that I was Sean. I'm Sean! heh heh. woo-boy. Anyways.

The wait turned out to only be about 15 minutes, and we were given some very nice coffee in the meantime. I got a kick out of the music. It's not everyday you hear Melissa Etheridge followed by old school hiphop. What fun! The decorations were whimsical and the interior was sunny and pleasant. 

We settled in at the counter and opened the menu, and my god. Normally one has a hard time deciding between a few things, perhaps, but this time, I found myself contemplating just how much food I could possibly cram into myself. Could I actually order everything in the first column? I settled on the eggs benedict, Sean went for the omelet Lorraine. By some strange twist of fate, omelet lorraine sounded like apple crepe to Jill, the lovely woman who took our order. If you happen to be into yelp.com, you may have read some very vicious things about Jill. They're lies. She's a peach. She was chatting it up with everyone at the counter, and she's awesome. Upon realizing the error in the order, she immediately put out the call for the omelet and told us to enjoy the crepe on the house. We offered some to our fellow counter-sitters, but they declined, citing satiation. 

The apple crepe was lovely, apples and gruyere wrapped in a well-made crepe and garnished with apple slices and powdered sugar. It's the kind of thing I would probably never have ordered on my own, but it was quite tasty. 

But my god. My eggs benedict. Toast does its eggs benedict with prosciutto and a truffle hollandaise sauce. The eggs were cooked to perfection and served on top of marvelously crisped english muffins. The prosciutto worked beautifully and the hollandaise was, quite simply, to die for. The home fries on the side were fantastic. It was damn near a religious experience.

Then, lickety split, Sean's omelet arrived - bacon, gruyere and chives, finely chopped so as to have each of the flavors represented in every bite. Delicious. Absolutely delicious.

The food was divine, the camraderie amongst those sitting at the counter was lovely, and all in all, it was a wonderful experience. I can't wait to go back and eat everything else on the menu. 

(Blogger isn't uploading pictures for some reason, so you'll have to wait to see Jill's smiling face, the sunny interior, and the inordinately attractive man who sat next to us at the counter.)

Orange

Orange

75 W Harrison, Chicago, IL 60605

I posted a long rant about this place already on my bacon blog, but I suppose for the sake of posterity, I should say something about it here, and rather than repost my irate ramblings, I figured I'd try to write something a bit more level-headed and coherent. A few weeks later, I still think the place is totally overrated. But I'm ready to use my indoor voice when talking about it now. 

Ask any breakfast afficionado to recommend a place, and likely as not, they'll mention Orange. "They do this thing where they make fruit sushi, it's so neat!" The lines are famously long, but people swear up and down that it's worth the wait. But they're wrong. 

Granted, the interior is pleasant, and the place is actually well designed to handle hordes of hungry waiting people. At least, the Loop location is - I can't speak to the other ones. The place has a funky, upbeat feel to it. But what irritates me about it is that the whimsical funkiness of the place is a total illusion. It tries to pretend it's some fabulous fantasy candy land of no rules and sweets for breakfast (or fancyschmancy yuppy fare) but the food is decidedly mediocre and the experience is incredibly frustrating. It's misguided, is what it is. Almost anything you get off the menu will, at best, be fabulous for maybe two bites, but then you just want it to go away. And you'll kind of resent yourself for having ordered it, and for how much money you're about to pay for it. And in the meantime, you'll find yourself getting annoyed over petty, stupid things like the fact that they tie each set of silverware up with a string - what a waste of perfectly good string, not to mention, somebody's time just to tie that shit! Ugh! That's what Orange does to me. I can't stand the place. I try to play nice, I try to give it another chance, but it pulls the same ol' bullshit, and every time, I'm just a little more pissed. It's over, Orange. We are SO through.  Pack up your bland breakfast potatoes and candied pancake offerings and get the hell out. 

Cans

Cans, 1640 N Damen, Chicago, IL 60647

Brunch: 10am-3pm Saturday and Sunday

Dude, check out their webpage. It's AMAZING.

Cans  is the kind of bar where you would not be surprised to see people doing body shots. You can almost hear the faint echoes of “WOO! SPRING BREEEAAAK!” reverberating off the walls. I say almost, because even if the howls of lusty co-eds did have that kind of staying power, they’d probably be drowned out by the bizarre music selection – Top 40 hits intermingled with GNR, Red Hot Chili Peppers, and... the Beatles? I guess it makes sense. But not first thing on a Sunday morning. There are at least 5 tvs in the place. In case you managed to find a spot that isn’t facing a tv, there’s a gigantaur mirror along the wall that ensures that you’ll be able to see the Bouncy and Fun! Jeep ad from wherever you’re sitting.

Jen is going to explain the hollandaise debacle in depth, so ima focus on other things. Like the bloody mary bar. Holy crap the bloody mary bar is awesome. For $6 they will either bring you a bloody mary sans garnish, or a pint glass of vodka and ice. Jen went for the easy option, I went for the start from scratch option. I quickly regretted this decision, because there have got to be at least 8 different bloody mary mixes to choose from (and the good ol’ standy of regular-ass V8), and that’s an awful lot of responsibility to handle before your morning coffee. There are also 3 or 4 different hot sauces, some steak sauce, worcestershire, and a container of Cajun Seasoning. I dumped in all of them. And then, the garnishes. Sweet jesus, the garnishes. Why order breakfast? Celery, peppers, cucumbers, pickles, limes, lemons, 2 kinds of olives, cocktail onions, pepperoncini, jalapenos, several kinds of cheese (Jen: How will the bleu cheese crumbles work with the straw?), and two different kinds of meat garnish. Sidenote: I am informed that the meat I consumed was what Oscar Meyer calls salami. This blew my mind. Anyhow, I gleefully manufactured the mother of all bloody marys, only to realize I'd forgotten the celery and could not longer fit it into the glass without threatening its structural integrity. It was awesome. 

Build it, and they will come.

Their brunch menu is fairly small, but it covers all the bases (scrambles, eggs benny, french toast, pancakes, skillets), and includes a build your own breakfast sandwich option. These people really believe in giving you a sense of agency, apparently. While some women might find it demoralizing to be bombarded with hypersexualized images on tv, I revelled in a sense of empowerment. I can have breakfast ANY WAY I WANT. I went with the breakfast skillet, potatoes, onion, peppers and bacon, with cheddar thrown on at my request. Although the potatoes looked vaguely plasticized, they were quite tasty - much better than the usual sports bar fare. The best part of the breakfast, though, is the side of toast - their texas toast rocks my world. Seriously though, the food isn't amazing when compared to some of the other things that Chicago has on offer, but it's way, way better than you'd expect from a place of that kind. 

You're not gonna get much feedback from me regarding service, because I find people who bitch about service really annoying, but in this case, it should be mentioned that our waitress was super friendly, and really nice about the what I have decided to call the Eggs Hollangate. Also, I was watching some of the bartenders play pool (they remove the cover from the pool table at noon, I think), and I saw a guy make one of the most bad-ass shots in pool I have ever seen. It was sweet.  So yeah, gold star for the employees.

I have a hard time recommending such an all-out frat bar with a straight face. Especially when the food, though good, isn't amazing. The bloody mary bar is kind of amazing. But the thing about starting your day off with a bloody mary is, once you've had one, you might as well have 5 and spend the rest of the day shooting pool and watching James Bond movies. 

At the same time though, there is something very appealing about the place. As far as frat bars go, it's pretty top-notch - decent prices, good food, lots of tvs, etc. And when you go on Sunday morning, it's pretty much empty. In other words, it's like a kind of theme park/playground, where you can go play with all the toys without having to interact with the people who generally frequent such establishments. So you get all the fun parts without the popped-collar-gelled-fauxhawk guy either running game or looking at you like you're some kind of frizzy haired space alien that has inexplicably materialized in his periph. It's kind of neat. Much like Disneyland, you probably wouldn't wanna go there weekly, but once in awhile, it's a good time.

Woo! Spring Break!

Why Tinajon Makes My Day, And Orange Makes Me Cry -OR- Everyone Here Is On the Wrong Side of the Street

I must confess from the beginning that I was dying to go back to Orange.

I had only been there once, and I still rue not ordering the flight of pancakes when I had the chance. Those things consistently look amazing, and the square, portioned plates that they are served on are just too sexy. So when Kasia, Harold and I strolled into this restaurant around the corner from Printer’s Row, I was totally pumped.

The next hour bore witness to the slow, tragic deflation of my naïve hopes.

The day’s flight of pancakes was Candy Land themed. That meant tons of peanut brittle, cherry syrup, chocolate chips, and even crushed up lollipop garnish. I took one look at the description and knew that that dish would leave me one gumdrop shy of a diabetic coma, so I dealt with my grief and turned to the omelets. The list was short, topped with a disclaimer about how all the omelet recipes had been meticulously crafted, and the suggestion that you seek out a build-your-own omelet, should that be your desire, at some other place with either “Golden” or “Nugget” in the name.

Now, I happen to be of the opinion that if you are going to dish out that kind of pretention, you have to push the product to back it. In this respect, Orange was an epic fail. My pesto eggs were cold, bland, and barely even tasted of basil. They were not made with love. They tried to pass off a molded wad of starchy goo as “home fries,” and, I shit you not, the “multigrain toast” that I ordered was pre-sliced Pepperidge Farm. Shenanigans.

The real warning lights went off early, though, when Kasia, who has very particular dairy issues, asked to swap out the cheese in her omelet, and was met by a face of mild panic on the waitress. She looked like she was as eager to ask the cooks to make a substitution as I am to confess my flossing habits to my dentist. That tells me that the kitchen is being run by an egomaniacal dick wad who I should know better than to trust with something as emotional as my breakfast.


So, the following weekend, as our breakfast adventures took us up north to Roscoe Village, Kasia and I discovered a second Orange location on N Roscoe, we both let out audible cries of distaste as we drove past. My housemate Sean took us to this fateful block to eat at Tinajon, a tiny little Guatemalan restaurant that boasts a hearty breakfast menu, and home to Sean’s summer stint as a bus boy in 2003. We shoveled past the droves of customers waiting to pack themselves into trendier breakfast joints, and grabbed a table in sunny dining room of this overlooked little gem.


There are no huge surprises on this menu, no crazy food experiments or gluttonous combinations that make the menu pop, but every single thing we ordered was great. And I mean great. From the homemade salsa, to the refried beans and rice, every thing was spot on and done just right. I ordered the yucca con ajo as an appetizer, and it was spectacular. The garlic spicing was perfectly balanced, and wasn’t so heavy that it destroyed your palate for later. For my meal, I had huevos con pollo, which turned out to be a simple egg scramble with shredded chicken, tomatoes, and hot peppers, and spices. It was a simple dish but done so well. I was impressed. An egg scramble impressed me. Not many restaurants can make me say that. Damn, even the rice was fantastic. I swear, they put coconut fat in it. Yum.

Also, lest ye be afeared that a place like Tinajon will venture too far from the usual breakfast fare for a regular Saturday morning, I have to mention that this place held its own by being one of the very few honest to goodness restaurants that will refill your coffee and refill it often. Five or six times maybe. And they brew it with cinnamon. You have no idea what you are missing.

Leaving Tinajon, it was almost tragic to see the crowds of people waiting with their screaming children to over pay for bland, pretentious cooking at Orange across the street. My breakfast was so good that it left my body humming. I shook my head at the Orange patrons, watching them putter around the hostess like penguins on an iceberg. There is nothing inside for them to order, no place for them to go, that isn’t cold, wet, and ultimately not quite as good as the standing around they were doing before hand. Do yourself a favor, guys, and cross the street. Cross the street as fast as you can. Orange doesn’t love you. Get your dvd’s back from his house and break it off. Your new lover, Tinajon, will bring the passion back to your mornings.

…I do still think about that flight of pancakes sometimes.

El Tinajon

El Tinajon, 2054 W Roscoe Street, Chicago, IL 60618

M-Th 11am-10pm, F, Sa 10am-11pm, Su 10am-10pm

Instead of waiting an hour to get a table at Orange on Roscoe, head down the street to this marvelous little restaurant. El Tinajon is a fantastic Guatemalan joint that apparently has very tasty lunches and dinners. I wouldn't know, but I believe it. Their breakfast options aren't massively extensive; they're mostly fairly simple combinations of eggs, beans, fried plantains and rice, but they're very, very well done. The interior is homey but not cheesy; warm orange walls and some mediocre paintings of village streets and Mayan ruins. The service is prompt and friendly.

As soon as you sit down, fresh chips and salsa are set in front of you. Not especially amazing, but good. The water, I have to say, kind of tasted like swimming pool. It was strange. The coffee, on the other hand, is fantastic, rich and smooth and with a hint of cinnamon. They're not that quick on the refills, but then, many restaurants don't really seem to understand just how much coffee I wanna drink in the morning (I'm not even kidding - I share responsibility for one place revoking its bottomless cup policy). 

For an appetizer, Jen ordered the yucca for us all to share. I had ever eaten a yucca. It's a lot like a potato, albeit somewhat mushier, kinda. This arrived in small cubes, coated in some marvelous spices and fried or possibly baked. I don't think I'm going to become a yucca enthusiast, but I also don't think I'm going to get yucca that good in very many other places. I'll bet it's really easy to prepare yucca in a way that really accentuates its bland mushiness, rather than playing to its strengths as a mild-mannered vegetable.

For an entree I had the Huevos a la Mexicana, scrambled eggs with cilantro, tomatoes, onions and peppers, served with rice and black beans. The scramble wasn't particularly complex, but it was simple, good food done right. Not too dry, not too mushy, the various vegetables came together into a solidly tasty symphony. The black beans were really quite good - I'm not usually a big fan of beans, but these were flavorful and actually enhanced my eating experience. The rice, also, packed more flavor than you'd expect, and had just the right sticky-but-not-mushy texture, a nice change from usual bone-dry fare one finds as an accompaniment to a lot of Latin American food. I got a side of the fried plantains, and they rocked my world. Buttery fried goodness. 

If you have never encountered beans, rice and plantains for breakfast, you owe it to yourself to give it a try. It may seem strange at first (like, wow! dinner for breakfast!), but it's actually a much healthier, pleasanter eating experience than most American breakfasts. You'll leave full and energized but not stuffed to the gills and ready to lie down. It's fairly simple food, but it's good for you. You may scoff at the idea of fried food being healthy, but I tell you what - you know it is, because of how you'll feel after eating it. Trust me on this one.

Anyways, an enthusiastic recommendation from me on this one. I will definitely be coming back for more. Probably quite soon, actually, given that my car broke down right after breakfast and I had to leave it there. Um. The food is great!

Our Mission

So I was a little dubious about starting yet another blog (I've already got two somewhat frivolous blogs, one about books and movies and one about bacon) but this morning, we were finishing an absolutely incredible meal at a marvelous little Guatemalan joint up in Roscoe Village, and I thought, man, people need to know about this place. This is one of the best breakfasts I've had in awhile, and here it is, cheap and delicious and no wait at all for a table, and meanwhile just down the street people are flocking to Orange and thinking they're gonna treat themselves. 

And yes, you might say, "you know why there's no wait? Because people don't know about it." True dat my friend, but you know, if you somehow managed to stumble across this blog, you deserve to know. And those restaurants deserve business. And I truly believe there is enough brekkies out there for everyone to have some.

Thus, we launch our newest project, Champions of Breakfast. Updates will probably be on a weekly basis, because we're not so decadent as to go out for brekkies more often than that (if only!). But our aim is to give you the low-down on the good, the bad and the ugly of Chicago's breakfast scene. Who knows, given our crazy nomadic habits, other cities might even guest-star.