I have a confession to make.
I am one of those arrogant, elitist foodie types that loves going to restaurants and either falling in love with the food or ripping it to pieces.
But only certain types of food.
High end French food? Shit
Sushi? Uncooked, possibly rotten shit.
Anything involving a shellfish of any kind? I will aim for you when I projectile vomit.
However, make me a cheeseburger with bacon and ham ground up into the patty and then stuff it with a mix of exotic cheeses and I may shit myself in delight. (And they do that in a Cafe in Torrance, CA)
All of that being said, an old friend has opened an eating establishment.
First of all, they serve coffee. You had me at hello.
Their roast is an incredible one from a small local roaster.
Then, they serve food.
Modern, yet traditional Irish food. You had my grandmother at hello.
I have yet to have breakfast, but they have a creation called bacon jam that they will be spreading over waffles that makes my naughty bits tingle quite a bit.
And, in the evening hours, they will be serving a selection of beers and wines.
I am in love, that embarrassing schoolgirl type of love.
I am going to have a friend slip the eatery a note later and ask it if it likes me. (Complete with check boxes, Yes or No.)
I had spicy pork mixed with veggies and a dollop of sweet potato mash on top.
The pork is spicy enough to clear your sinuses.
I may have found a new home away from home.
Starbucks, you are hereby on notice.
(And not in the Ike and Tina way where I slap you around and throw you out then show up crying. TAKE ME BACK BABY!)
The nicest thing of all, its a fairly healthy eating alternative to my usual eatery.
Growing up, the family business was a kick ass burger place, so my eating preference is firmly in the “Comfort food” realm.
I plan on being here a lot.
This blog isn’t going to write itself.
Alright, so writing rude stream of consciousness stuff kind of does write itself, but you get what I mean.
Plus, the change of scenery will do me good.
It’s Sunday now.
Had breakfast at the aforementioned friend’s restaurant.
Had the waffles folded over scrambled eggs, Irish bangers, and a generous smear of that bacon jam.
Had a little food-gasm on the first bite.
But the highlight of the morning was when the manager stopped me from ordering the house drip.
“Let me make you a special coffee that is one of my favorites.”
This is a lot like a crack dealer saying, “I got a special rock, just for you.”
Not the kind of thing that refusing even occurs to you.
I would try to be cute and say java-gasm, but that would not cover it.
Imagine if the Victoria super models dropped by, took you out for an evening of drinking at a party at the Playboy mansion with oral favors throughout.
Yeah, its a guy’s fantasy, (and a few of the ladies) but it conveys the point.
It was awesome.
And sure, there is a bit of glassy eyed honeymoon mentality at play here.
Its an old friend, its by my house, the bloom is ON THE ROSE.
Will it fade over time?
Maybe a bit, but its an Irish coffee place that makes some good breakfast.
Thats like a crack house with a really comfortable couch.
Its the little things that count.
I don’t promote stuff here, never have. I am doing this.
Cork’ers. Redondo Beach California. Near the Galleria. Find it and get your Bacon on.