It has been a dynamic week to say the least. I moved out of my lovely little Emerald apartment, and into the life of a homeless nomad. All of my belongings are packed into a concrete storage unit, patiently awaiting their move to my new house in Mission in about a week. I have also been coming to terms with the departure of one of my best friends to the east coast. I have been quietly mourning the loss of my bright little apartment and friend, living out of two Steve Madden bags, and self-medicating with expensive seafood.
Tuesday morning was a difficult one. It had been a long Monday night, toasting (and shooting), to Hannah's departure to NYC. My head screaming, I was desperate for caffeine and carbs, so Lauren, Hannah, and I headed to the Mission.
The mission is a cute little breakfast/lunch spot tucked between 12th and 13th street in Mission Beach. They boast, "Intensely flavored eclectic dishes" and boy do they deliver.
First order of business was caffeine intake. I would have injected myself with a coffee filled syringe at this point had the tools been available. My head was pounding to hard to navigate the coffee section of the menu so I asked the waiter to bring me his favorite. Ironically, something I absolutely despise being asked to do at my restaurant.
What he brought me still haunts my dreams and the occasional daydream. They call it the Vincent Vega.
Imagine what survivors in a post apocalyptic San Diego might scrounge together and drink out of dire need and you'll be close to the consistency and color of this foul concoction. Out of pure regret and understanding of how it feels to bring a table something they clearly hate, I took a sip. I immediately regretted the decision. The rancid combination of coke, espresso, chocolate sauce and milk could be substituted for water boarding at Guantanamo. So, so bad. The poor waiters face as I inched the cup to the farthest corner of my peripheral vision. Showering him with sorry's I ordered an iced chai latte and embarked on the side of the menu I was really here for.
Bypassing my usual Zen breakfast I scanned the pancake section for something that would really stick to my ribs. I ended up choosing the plain old pancakes with a side of eggs and potatoes.
The artistically decorated plate with swirls of berry compote and fruit bits immediately won me over. The pancakes were exactly what my head and heart desired. Good old-fashioned goodness. Simple yet delectable. I dove into the eggs and potatoes and was pleasantly surprised by the rosemary and sea salt flavors of the potatoes. So flavorful, so filling.
As I began to slip into a carb induced mini coma I grabbed a bite of Lauren's French toast.
I got the perfect bite, blueberry, syrup and toast. Yummy.
Full, a lot less hung-over, and excited to share my experience, I rebuttoned the top of my jeans and headed out the door to take on the day.
