Skillets bearing behemoth portions always make me wonder how the wait staff doesn't have carpal tunnel from the massive mounds of food they carry. This is a definate spot when impressing out- of-towners for an unduplicated experience in gluttony. Breakfasts, "Flinstone-ian" in size, would leave even Fred with leftovers.
The bacon waffle acts out the most devious of sweet and savory fantasies, satisfying every wicked craving. They hit the nail on the hand-hammered pork loin, crisp with yellow tomato, spinach and bbq cream. Sage fried chicken with maple reduction, eggs, bacon mashed potatoes and biscuit also performs amazing acts of "breakfastry".
But, is this where I go regularly on weekends? Never. Besides the wait, the attraction of mammouth portions wanes when you have eight pounds of eggs to cart home (not too good the next day) and no visitors to impress.
But I still have love for a place that lists a 20 oz. Bud can in a paper bag on its menu.
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