Nova Cafe by Elizabeth Lee

It was 10:00 a.m. as Anne, Aidan, and I descended on Nova Café, thinking that most of the Bozemanites would have cleared out by then. We were about as wrong as the British in 1776. The moment we entered via the back entrance, we were mauled by an angry herd of bison (A.K.A. the colossal horde of people who hadn’t been served yet). 

Nova has created a culture in Bozeman by being privately owned and communally-centered. Nova really focuses on making your experience memorable and positive. They sponsor local events and give out T-shirts. What’s not to love? This popularity was proven by the average 35 minute wait for a table.  Luckily (for Nova) the day we went was an especially cold day and nobody wanted to make the journey back to the car. The waitress gave us one of those beeper things that tell you when your table is ready, and we took a seat in the cramped waiting area as people moseyed around us waiting to be seated. After an eternity of drinking coffee, waiting, talking, drinking coffee, waiting, talking, our beeper started flashing, making me jump. We were finally seated.

The vintage sparkly diner chairs were strangely pleasant next to the more modern atmosphere of the room. Wooden planks lined the walls with artistic drawings of food on them, brightening up the room and emphasizing the “hominess” of Nova. Thanks to the corner in which we had been seated, the noise level was extremely low. However, for the people seated in the main dining area it was an entirely different story. Even to me the noise was excruciating and my ears were plugged thanks to a cold. If you are going to go to Nova for breakfast, I recommend either getting there before 7:00 a.m., or after 11:00 a.m. so that your hearing and other senses are not completely plagued.

I decided to order eggs benedict. It took our meal eight minutes sixteen seconds to arrive, and was the perfect serving temperature. Not so hot that we had to wait for it to cool, and not so cold that it tasted like it had been dead for two months and then heated for thirty seconds in the microwave. When I dug my knife into the first of the pile of egg, ham, and muffin covered with the Hollandaise sauce, it cut somewhat easily (to my great joy) for Eggs Benedict.

The snowy whiteness of the egg whites against the yellow yolk nicely contrasted with with the more robust hues of the ham, muffin, and potato bits to the side. Although this dish was nowhere near dainty, it was appealing and it looked like there had been some thought as to the arrangement of the food.

I impaled the unending layers of local ham, egg, and English muffin until I eventually had a bit of everything on my fork. I’m not exactly the most careful eater in the world, but it doesn’t take Ruth Reichl to figure out that this dish had been constructed in a way that makes it virtually impossible to eat it in a fashion that does not involve looking like a lion hunched over a dead impala. I couldn’t help but wonder if Nova was trying to make it more rugged so people would think that they are truly a home-style restaurant. Even though Nova has a modern design, even though Nova has some “elegant eatery,” even though Nova keeps up with the times and is technologically savvy, they still want to appear to be a good-old down-to-heart kind of place. This was an interesting prospect to me and I pondered it the rest of my stay at Nova.   

Although the egg was cooked perfectly with a nice and runny yolk, there were way too many slices of ham. It overpowered the English muffin slice and sauce so much that I had to remove half of the slices of ham and stockpile them for later on the side of my plate. The Hollandaise sauce was creamy with a little bit of spice, giving the dish a little punch. Besides the ham, the only other thing that held the plate back were the potato bits. They tasted a bit bland and dry, making it feel like you were trying to swallow a freeze-dried pillow. However, this could be remedied by applying a couple squirts of ketchup.

Eventually, our check came and the total for two Eggs Benedict and one waffle was surprisingly cheap at $32.00. We were about to pay when Aidan elected to get a hot chocolate, which I must say sounded pretty good. The waiter was then forced to take back our check and make another to accommodate for the hot coco. He did this with a very positive attitude and gave us a genuine “thank you” when we left. Not just the, “Thank you come again,” that is normally recited to you upon leaving a restaurant, but a real: “Thank you guys for coming in!” He also served us with an upbeat attitude and seemed to, strangely, enjoy being a waiter. Nice job Nova!

When we ascended from Nova, the mood was a good one except for one slight problem: Rather worryingly, Aidan’s Hot Coco cup had an arrow pointing to the “Sip hole.” What kind of mumbling mongoose would monogram that miserable montage of words to map my mug’s “Sip Hole?!” Apparently, mumbling mongooses from Nova’s art team would. I could just imagine some office worker, desperate for promotion, coming up with the “Sip Hole” while on coffee break.

I would recommend Nova to people who like a good meal and not one of those artsy patties that consist of something green with gold shavings on top. My kind of food!

Sweet Chili by Aidan Ferrin

I am someone who has been to many restaurants all around the country, and in several others. I’ve tasted soda from Costa Rica, chocolate from Belize, and quesadillas from Hawaii. Due to these experiences, my view on restaurants has changed over the years. As someone who views restaurants very analytically, I am fairly critical of any restaurant I travel to. Still, I do enjoy reviewing, and I had fun writing this paper. Enjoy! 

As I entered the building, the overwhelming simplicity of the entrance struck me. Compared to what I saw through the large glass panes, it was a desert of absence. Walking through the door to the restaurant was like entering a different dimension: the dim red lighting illuminated the large interior of the room. The reception area was small, but effectual, as people were seated quickly and expertly. In the middle of the restaurant was a giant Buddha head, which had a presence of its own, like an elderly figure watching over, and gifting food to the customers.

After a short wait, we (being my father and I) were guided to our table with quick efficiency.  The waitress, who was very friendly, told us about the specials. I ordered some green tea, and my father some sushi (I don’t like fish or seaweed). After a short wait, which, to myself, seemed a bit too long, my tea arrived. The bag was still in the hot water, and appeared to have not steeped for long, a sign that, to me, the tea was prepared with the customer’s taste in mind. The mug, which was decorated with lavender, tangerine, and a type of dusky white leafy vines, was placed on a small saucer, and no tea was anywhere in sight, signaling careful handling. After steeping to my desired amount, not too bitter, but still flavorful, I took a sip. It was very warm, but still fulfilling. As an agreeable effect, a slight aftertaste of lemon soothed, in its own way, the burn of the scalding drink. 

The table was nicely laid out, and seemed to be designed for the diner’s convenience, as everything necessary was close, but not crowding. The utensils provided were slightly scratched, so they were well used, but not so marred that one could tell without looking. A single rose was in a small vase off to my left. It was not overwhelming, but the shock of red was striking on the white landscape of the tablecloth. 

After, in my opinion, a long wait, the sushi finally arrived. The plate was long and thin, as to accommodate the shape of all the fat little cocoons, and was incredibly clean and blemish free. The sushi had no breaches, and absolutely nothing had touched the plate, besides the sushi’s seaweed skin. The layout was perfect, and, according to my father, tasted nice. 

The waitress came to take our orders, and, as I was hungry, was eager for things to be set in motion. I ordered the Green Curry, and my father the Phad Phed. I continuously sipped on my tea, as the warm liquid filled the gaping hole in my stomach. The entrée was taking way too long to arrive. To pass the time, I, perhaps rudely, (I didn’t care) played with my chopsticks. The chopsticks were provided earlier, but were unnecessary until boredom took hold. More people had started coming into the room, so the noise level was skyrocketing. In the background, I could barely hear the unique music that, earlier, created a relaxing atmosphere without being tiring. 

Eventually, after an eternity it seemed, the food arrived. I understand that there were a lot of people, so I’ll cut the restaurant some slack, but the people to the right of us, who, I might add, arrived after we did, received their food first. At the time this was of no consequence, because my food had arrived, and my stomach was akin to a barren wasteland. I grabbed a piece of the meat and took a bite. Immediately, my mouth was assaulted by immeasurable calefaction. Then, shortly after, my taste buds and lips caught on fire. Not literally, but it was so ridiculously spicy. I should have taken the two chilies—the way the restaurant shows spiciness, 1-4—on the menu as a warning. The taste, though, was outstanding. I can’t even explain it to a mortal. It probably tasted better to me than the average human (I really like green curry), but still, the meanest person in the Andromeda Cluster would appreciate this. 

While my blistered (not really) mouth cooled, I looked at the presentation of the curry. 

The large bowl and the smaller plate it rested on, like the other dishware here, were immaculate. Not a drop of the curry, or a shred of the meat looked to have ever touched the surface of either. The classic wide curry spoon that rested on the plate looked flawless, besides the nearly imperceptible scratches of constant use. The bowl had a wide rim that stuck out around an inch and a half, the purpose of which I couldn’t comprehend. Maybe it was to catch rogue splashes of the curry before it reached the diner. Whatever its actual purpose, I used it to rest the chunks of pork on so that they could cool more quickly (I was still pretty hungry).

After the main course was finished, and I couldn’t eat another bite of the curry (I, being a child, need dessert), I ordered some dessert (told you). It was Crispy Milk, a kind of Asian pastry made with cornstarch, various kinds of milk, salt, flour, baking powder, and seltzer water, and green tea ice cream. I do love my green tea. After a 20 minute wait, or there about, it arrived. At this point, I’m sensing a pattern. The ice cream was in a tall glass, and was garnished with a mint leaf. The lighter and darker greens created a nice feeling of contrast. Next to the glass, on yet another spotless long plate, sat a single strawberry. It was sliced vertically, and looked kind of like a puzzle. It was the first to go. The Crispy Milk itself looked like cute little balls of fried goodness. I took a bite: the outside was crispy, and provided a delicate, but satisfying all the same, crunch. The inside was soft, almost custard-like (but it still stayed in place when cut open), and tasted exceptional. It was like someone took ice cream, made it solid, and fried it. The green tea ice cream was also up to par with the rest of the food I had been served. The green tea flavor was there, but not in such large quantities that it overpowered the sweet ice cream taste. When the warm Crispy Milk and the cold ice cream, were eaten in alternating order—ice cream, crispy milk, ice cream, etc.—an agreement was formed that was both refreshing and relaxing, a nice homey feel.

Eventually, came the time to pay and leave. Thankfully, unlike most of the evening, the check holder arrived swiftly and neatly while I was eating dessert. My father gave the waitress his credit card, and just minutes later, it returned. Thank goodness we didn’t have to wait for another half an hour for the waitress to bring it back. While we were leaving, the owner entered. My father knew her, so they started talking. It ended quickly, and it appeared that she went to help the waiting staff. That I must mention, because it is so incredibly nice. Back in the bland entryway, a crowd of around 50 people was waiting. I smiled and thought, they are going to have a great meal, but it may take them a while to get there.

Makenzie River Pizza by Louis Stevens

Makenzie River Pizza was, for the most part, wonderful.  

The food was scrumptious and the wait not terrible.   And I would know.  I am a person of action you could say; I swim most of the week and when I am not swimming I am doing other things.  Because my family and I do so much, we occasionally go out for pizza.  So I am what you could call along with a man of action but also a Master Food Critic for pizza.  

Makenzie River Pizza, the restaurant its self was interesting, from the lamps on the walls whose shades were finely crafted to resemble the skull of a cow or, the trees which looked like they are growing out of the restaurant its self.  You could call it mystical or just fun. The walls were also decorated in carvings or three dimensional paintings of fishermen and women catching fish with a look of joy on their faces.  The overall the feel of the place stupendous like a warm blanket just out of the dryer.   

The staff was very helpful and kind in the way that they seated us immediately; waiting for our food how ever took a fair amount of time considering that we were the only ones there it being a Monday and all.  Once the food arrived it was enjoyable and everything was quite nice from the local milk and vegetables on the pizza to how it was freshly made.  This might forgive the wait of the pizza to table process, which may I add is very important for hungry children.  The place had the kind of culture of a friendly place where everyone knows your name, but most of the time they just call you Mrs. or Mr. 

The pizza was outstanding, it was an Athenian pizza and you could tell that it was fresh like a cool glass of lemonade on a hot summer day.  Topped with olives, tomatoes, basil, red onion, and exotic cheeses.  The pizza was stupendous.  The olives were finely diced and also the tomatoes were red rubies whose flavor that burst in your mouth causing your tongue to feel the onslaught of freshness in the tomato.  The basil was the gorgeous green grass on the perfect summer day.  Red onions and cheese were like foreign travelers bringing goods of great value from lands so bountiful of precious items.  The temperature was absolutely spot on and so was the pizza when cooked. Thank goodness that there were absolutely no little pockets of cold or scalding hot cheese like lava when you bite.

My experience was a good one and I would recommend it to all my friends.  There is plenty of space for them to join in any escapade including pizza.  My only wish for the restaurant is that they could speed up the food to table process but only if it doesn’t harm the flavor, temperature, and fine cooking throughout the pizza.  Overall I would greatly recommend this restaurant for anyone who needs a fast but tasty meal or just a nice outing. 

Makenzie River Pizza: 4 Stars

Fin by Eric Borgquist

The day we went to Fin, I called 5 different restaurants trying to get a reservation for four at 6:00. Then I thought to myself what about rice? Hmmm it’s never too busy. So, we in leaped the car and…. When we got there, the individual manning the front desk said that it was a 45 minutes wait! Ok, so I was wrong now plan G for those keeping score. Then, thanks to my Dad, we saw Fin. All the way there I was dubious. “Fish?” I said to myself.

When we got to Fin, the man at the front desk waved at us. We decided to look at the menu.  It looked great. The man who waved at us turned out to be our server, and was very nice.  Then he showed us to our table, and asked me if I was doing homework. I said, “No I’m reviewing your restaurant for school.” He said “In that case, my name is Evan, but if you don’t like our service my name is Bob.’’

Next, I decided to take a look around. It was decorated tastefully, and had a wall full of wine bottles. The lighting was like a candle light aurora. A crimson pair of tulips were on each table.  The restaurant had very nice smooth Jazz music, and great root beer. 

When the food arrived, I observed it: lobster mac and cheese, with the lobster shell on top, and a piece of bread sticking out of the shell. My stomach growled.  The first thing that I tasted was lemon, bacon, cheese, lobster and butter. It reminded me of a bowl of happiness warmed up. I would have liked it a little hotter, but despite this it was perfect. 

Next we ordered the Tiramisu, which was creamy, fluffy and melted in your mouth, and a chocolate torte, which was sweet, salty and dense on the bottom and soft on top.

In a few minutes, the head chef came to our table, to say hello. Then, he gave me the restaurant’s card. Then, he left to get back to the kitchen. 

After visiting Fin I would recommend it to anyone. The atmosphere, the food and the service was superb.  Fin is a nice place to have a special occasion or a quick bite to eat.  The atmosphere at Fin was just what I needed that evening:  good food, nice people and a calm setting where I could enjoy an evening with my family.  

Fin: 4.5 stars

Wild Crumb Bakery by Grace Tallman

My first taste of Wild Crumb was a complete accident.

I had wandered into the basement to complain to my dad that my cold had left me unable to do anything fun and therefore desperately bored. In response, he handed me a plastic cup with a bit of pale and clear tangerine liquid left inside––fresh squeezed orange juice from Wild Crumb Bakery. I took a cautious sip and found that it tasted like...orange juice. Not the kind in a carton, with its weirdly artificial opaque color and the sugary aftertaste you can never quite get rid of and the weird preservatives that coat your throat, but the juice you get when you suck on a slice of a fresh orange, the kind that dribbles over your fingers and tastes clear and fruity like...sunshine. After those few tantalizing sips, I was determined to go to Wild Crumb and see what other wonders were in store.

A few days later, my wish was granted. It was in an area of town I was familiar with. The architecture in this area combined modern, boxy forms with the more industrial materials of corrugated steel plates and rusty red metal beams. Wild Crumb was no exception. There was an abstract sculpture comprised of curves and ovals outside in the rocky garden full of straggly green-brown flowers. I wondered idly if the art inside and outside had come from the Mercantile, the nearby art studio where I had once taken private art lessons. It shared the building with several other businesses, but it used its available space creatively. 

When we went inside, the first thing I noticed was cinnamon and dill, the scent of sweet and savory spices and freshly baked bread wafting into my nostrils and beckoning me inside. Although the outer look was industrial and modern, the inside was like a classic Montana bakery. The next thing I noticed was the array of pastries neatly laid out behind a curved glass pane, tastefully arranged on platter stands of varying heights. The indoor design may have been Montanan, but the pastries were straight out of a French cafe! A tray of lavender French macaroons caught my eye. I had been to France before, and loved their macaroons. Since then, I had been disappointed by the lack of macaroons that lived up to that standard. However, the orange juice had given me high expectations for this bakery-cafe, and I wondered if my disappointment might that day come to an end. 

I ordered one of the Lavender Earl Grey French Macaroons, a rich chocolatey brown Hazelnut Chocolate Cake dusted with powdered sugar, and a (non-French) coconut macaroon drizzled with chocolate. The staff were helpful and knew exactly what a gluten-intolerant person like me needed. After they handed us our pastries, we sat outside at some simple copper-green metal chairs. 

With some trepidation, I bit into the lavender macaroon. My teeth cracked through the outside crust and into a soft-as-snow interior that tasted of sweet lavender. The inside cream filling was beautifully smooth, with a deep and slightly bitter undertone that reminded me of hot tea. The two different tastes frolicked on my tongue and melded into something sweet and perfectly creamy. It was heavenly. My disappointment had indeed gone away––and that was only the first bite! I finished the rest of the macaroon, being sure to savor every sweet bite as it melted in my mouth just the way it did in France. 

My dad told me that I could only have one more, so I split the other two desserts in half and nibbled on the chocolate cake. It had a rich chocolate flavor with a sweet nutty undertone and a bitter, almost coffee-like aftertaste. It was almost like Nutella, except, of course, much more delicious. If I were younger, I might not have appreciated that richness, but I had recently learned to love such flavors such as coffee and dark chocolate. After painfully forcing myself to eat only half, I dug into the coconut macaroon.  This one was the most typical (I had seen it in almost every cafe I'd ever been to), but a cut above the ordinary. I had never seen someone coat a macaroon in chocolate, but it was a genius idea. The toasted coconut of the macaroon was perfect with the chocolate, combining to create a sweet and nutty flavor that was better than any other coconut macaroon I had ever had. It was only later that I realized that the pastries were probably even better than they had seemed, due to my cold––a tantalizing possibility

I very rarely return to a cafe within two weeks of my first visit, but Wild Crumb was so tantalizing that it lured me back for more within ten days. The third time I went, there was a whole different set of delicious-looking deserts. I decided on a  raspberry, vanilla bean, and apricot panna cotta along with a vanilla bean almond merengue. I started with the merengue, relishing the way my teeth crunched through it and unleashed a burst of powdery sweetness. It was just as delectable as everything else I had eaten there! The main body of the merengue melted away on my tongue, leaving behind a slight almond taste from the goldenrod sliced almonds embedded within. The merengue itself was eggshell white and shaped like a dollop of sticky frosting––not as visually appealing as the perfect swirl shape I had seen at the Daily Coffee Bar, but certainly more gastronomically appealing. 

The panna cotta was altogether different. The first thing I tasted was the clear tang of the deep red raspberry top, followed by the smooth white vanilla bean main body that reminded me of whipped cream. Finally came the rich bright orange apricot gel at the bottom, which tasted like a sunny field on a prairie of sunflowers at sunset. Not sunshine, though––it was too flavorful for that. Altogether, they created a palette of flavors that danced over my taste buds and created a cornucopia of colorful tastes. It tasted like spring. I let every spoonful spend time on my tongue, savoring its flavors before it slipped down my gullet.

All in all, Wild Crumb is most definitely the best pastry shop I have ever been to––which is saying something, considering I've been to France! I would definitely recommend it for anyone who loves quality food or has been spoiled by French cuisine. The only thing I didn't like about it was the fact that it closes at 3:00 PM, so I can't go after school to experience those wonderful flavors. That's just me being picky, though, because short hours are a hallmark of a good restaurant–something I learned the hard way in France. 

No complaints here!

The Yurt

By Ian Novak

A small dusting of snow falls around the cabin-like yurt.  I look outside one of the clear plastic windows into the snowy wilderness In the yurt there is very little light, like waiting in a cave with only headlamps, a fire, and those 18^th century lamps to see.  All sorts of small items scatter across the table including some okra pickles, tasting sour and vinegary, which are being snatched from the jar. 

People move about freely around the yurt’s interior and the chef stands right next to the table while the spaghetti and tomato sauce cook.  The chef brings a fresh glass of orangey Tang out for the meal.  Small chocolate filled Mother’s cookies, are set upon the table and are instantly grabbed by many hands.  The other family, the Byorths, are staying in the yurt with our family and chatter constantly to fill the silence that the wilderness is continually singing. The mother, Susan, and the son, Teagan, play a heated game of checkers on the table.  My father, Mark, pops the champagne cork with the sound of a large sucker fish taking away its lips from the glass, and all the adults cheer.  The smoky smell from the fire fills the room and a small fan atop the fireplace spins relentlessly, clanka, clanka, clanka. My two roommates bicker off in one corner of the table and the boys’ coughing detracts from the overall comfort.  The smell of noodles mix with the smell of propane and smoke.  A dog named Stella, who longs to be petted, is always rubbing against someone’s leg, wagging her tail.

Now that you know a bit about the setting of the yurt, it may do you well to know how our family and the Byorths came to be here.   We were taking the last weekend of Christmas break to continue the tradition that we started 2 years ago with the Byorths.  This time we were getting one last time before we had to get back to our normal schedule. 

The salad container is ripped open with the sound of plastic on plastic.   Two large pots are placed in the center of the table and the two heavily used cauldrons are steaming with our dinner: spaghetti and red sauce.  Susan dishes out a large helping of noodles and a splattering of sauce on my plate.  My meal looks like a pile of wires with a blob of red goop on top.  The appearance of the dinner distracts from the feeling of the meal, though the smell of the banquet is extremely mouth-wateringly good.

The noodles are perfectly warm and the bit of meat in the red sauce tastes just like after a long ski and your fingers are freezing, that you sit next to a warm fire.  The dinner reminds me of a wooden cabin in the 18^th century; what a small family would have in that time, but still amazingly delicious.  My taste buds can taste a hint of smokiness in the noodles which has seeped into the spaghetti’s interior.  Some bites contain a large blob of tomato which completely overwhelms the taste of noodle or meat.  

Susan dishes out a spoonful of noodles and sauce to everyone having cheery small talk all the while.  The table is most certainly not clean.  I must clear room to make an area for my meal, which is not particularly pleasing.  The hard wooden chair which I sit upon is cold and takes at least 10 minutes to warm up.  It took the whole of twenty- five minutes for the delightful meal to be served.

The warm rustic feast and setting was perhaps my favorite part of the meal.  Eating out in the wilderness in a yurt is quite a unique experience. 

The next time I eat here, and I most certainly will, I would want, at least, for the table to be clean.  The table was already crowded with the people but with all the extra assortment of ski wax, candles, and lighters on the table, it was especially uncomfortable.  

I would recommend this restaurant to anyone who likes the outdoors. You must ski in and out, but the warm and comforting spaghetti was wonderful for anyone who wants a hardy, tasty meal. 

Cateye Cafe

By Chloe Watson

I walk down mainstreet and approach a bright yellow building called the Cateye Cafe. If you know anything about me and my preferences, you would know that the cat on the sign would immediately catch my attention. It’s 10:45 AM and the cafe is open, so I go inside. The restaurant is long and narrow with signs pointing to the “litterboxes.”  I am greeted by a woman named Cookie. She gives my mom and I menus and seats us. She offers coffee, however I decline and ask for orange juice. My mom on the other hand, happily accepts

We are given a few minutes to look at the menu when a woman named Sassy approaches our table claiming she is going to be our waitress. She sets down a strange substance in the form of a liquid (also known as coffee) for my mom, and orange juice served in a boot shaped glass for me. She asks if we are ready to order; we ask for a couple more minutes. 

After looking at the menu, I contemplate which dish to order. It was between the banana bread french toast and the buttermilk pancakes. Well, as you may know, I like the classics so I go with the buttermilk pancakes, without yogurt, and eggs. My mom orders the eggs benedict without ham. After we order, I play the game Trivial Pursuit that is sitting on the windowsill along with a lamp and a couple pairs of cateye glasses. 

About 15-20 minutes later, our food arrived. Two frisbee-sized pancakes with a pat of butter melting and a mountain of whipped cream on top, and eggs on the side. My mom’s egg benedict topped with the perfect amount of hollandaise sauce and roasted potatoes on the side. I cut a piece of my pancake, my expectations high because the menu claims the pancakes melt in your mouth. As the pancakes get closer to my mouth, I can smell the sweet, sticky, syrup, I love maple syrup. I take a bite and chew the pancake. It is crispy on the outside but soft and doughy on the inside. Bite after bite I take, each one better than the last. After I finish most of my meal, I try my mom’s egg benedict. I take a bite of the biscuit topped with hollandaise sauce. The sauce coats my taste buds while the biscuit crunches between my teeth. The hollandaise sauce was not too bland and not too rich. I then take a bite of the golden roasted potatoes. They are well seasoned and spiced but have a texture almost exactly like sand. Not just any sand, very, very dry sand. Not the texture I’m looking for in a potato. I ate a few more too make sure it wasn’t the one bad potato, but alas, the other potatoes were just as dry. Yuck. I put that aside and take a bite of the poached egg. Even though I think that runny yolks are absolutely repulsive, I have to admit, it was cooked perfectly. 

Overall, the restaurant was most definitely the cat’s meow. The only thing that I didn’t like was the grotesque potatoes. The other food was the a-maz-ing, especially the pancakes. The restaurant had such a comforting (and catty) atmosphere that makes you feel right at home. I give this restaurant and good ole’ five stars.