The Main Gang

The rain has finally decided to cease on this previously-dreary Sunday morning.  It is the rain stopping that signals to me that, alas, I should probably begin to navigate the endeavours of making it out of this coffee creamer colored bedding that I have cocooned myself in.

Sadly, I have not emerged as a butterfly like I again hoped.

Half a kilo of eyeliner and foundation later, I am ready to to face the concrete alleyways that navigate behind this building. My chelsea boots carry me to a place that I have walked by many a time: Burdock and Co.

“put it on the table with the flowers…”

This place claims to have brunch, and I prepare myself as I walk through the glass door, and am greeted by a giant gourd, to be overwhelmed by some sad crowd of hipster wannabes that have no doubt have employed the generic use of Blundstones to signal to the world that they could not care less about their appearance, even though this is probably the hardest they’ve tried all week.

I am pleasantly shown, née surprised that this crowd has either all vacated or has not arrived yet.

I have given the choice to sit high, or low at this restaurant, and choose the latter option to forego the notion that I need to showcase myself for the passersby of this establishment.  You see, the ‘low’ seats are almost hidden from view of the outside world.

My server is a woman of seemingly freshly exfoliated skin, and expensive foundation that somehow does not wash her out, even though it’s about half a shade off for her opaque skin. She offers me the selection of daily mimosas after I just about scoff at her notion of freshly brewed, fair-trade coffee.

Today’s mimosa duo is an offering of either strawberry, or watermelon. I choose the strawberry, because, frankly, watermelon is what you bring as a snack to a children’s soccer game when you try to out-do the other moms who only bring oranges.

It’s a mere six dollars for one of these, which makes me ponder how many I can get through without them giving me some questioning look about why I didn’t just merely go to the brewery down the street.

The establishment and I come to some form of solidarity once I see there are gluten-free scones on the menu, served with pear and star anise preserves. They are warm, flaky, and again sans satanic gluten. The preserves are nostalgic for me, like a marriage between an organic baby food and this one night I had one-too-many shots of star anise vodka. The only thing that disappointed me was the butter, that I thought was originally cheese.  I wanted a basket of these little lieblings, though.

To my left passes a steaming fresh baked apple clafoutis, a gelatinous, cornucopia of gluten and tree droppings that can only satisfy the table of forty-something divorceés on cheat day that have ordered this hot mess.

I go for something much more up my alley: a steaming bowl of German butter potatoes, with pickled garlic, and marjoram.  It’s every bit how I imagine a 1950s marriage: sweet, soft, plump, flavourful, and altogether able to transport me to a far away land where I as a women have no voice and am not able to do anything about it.  These potatoes are a woman’s only saviour.

left to right: scones, potatoes

I finish a third mimosa, before my bill is handed to me attached to a thick card stock business car, as well as a survey on the back of a postcard with a monotonous arrangement of eggs in a cold looking wire basket.

I leave the survey blank, but leave a very sufficient tip based on the fact that the mimosas I received came in a steady stream.

To conclude, the experience was excellent until a pair of Blunstones entered the restaurant.

Aloha, as my Hawaiian friends say! Okay, I really don’t have any Hawaiian friends, that was a bad joke.

I must tell you about this amazing feast of carbs and cheese I had tonight. There was also guac, salsa, and sour cream. They are the Utopian Nachos and they are the best nachos you can get your hands on.

The place has a real indie vibe, and almost like a ‘we’re too cool to care about you’ feel, which perhaps works in their favour because it just feels like a father who was never really there, but you know he loves you, right?

It’s really dark, and I’m pretty sure no one but me saw the couple necking in the back of the restaurant. Okay, maybe the people next to them too, but that is beside the point.

The beer on special tonight was a boho something-or-other.  It was light, frothy, and well, it paired perfectly with the Utopian Nachos that I was talking about earlier.  I need to talk more about these, because seriously, you could just not eat for days, come here, order the small, and be filled up! I’ve never wanted to take a bath in nachos until I tried these.

A pitcher of Boho and some glorious Utopian Nachos!

Going back to drinks, beer in only the beginning here. After that, I moved on to a pitcher of sangria, which was just so colourful, and icy.  It was like almost forgetting the three degees temperature outside, and transporting me back to New Zealand Summer temperatures.

To finish, may I suggest the sugar pie?

It is an experience that brings me back to home baked goods.  It’s like having an entire slice of a butter tart. It is a buttery confection that is so good, it truly has to have some health benefits, right? Okay, maybe just health benefits for the soul.

I think my favourite thing about this place is the fact that it’s open until 2AM, so it really does satisfy those late night cravings for nachos, sangria, sugar pie, or the stoned guy making your nachos and putting way too much cheese on, but I won’t be complaining about any of this.  In fact, these are the things that make The Foundation so loveable.

Go eat, drink, and be merry at this place, friends!

hello. i will be talking about beer.

so. there’s this cool place a couple blocks down from rosemary rocksalt called brassneck. they are a brewery and they can hook ‘ya up with some good brews. you can even get a growler and fill it up for home use. (by which i really mean, drink in the streets…)

anyway, this place is pretty happening. even on a wednesday night they’re almost full, but don’t let that turn you off from heading into their tasting room. it’s just what your wednesday needs. a little bit of action, and some cheap beer. the people are pretty sticky with your i.d., so make sure you don’t forget.

the place only hold 50 people, as it’s moved to the backside of this place, but it’s quaint, it’s cool, and the locals love it so, if it ain’t broke, don’t go making it into a chain like some swiss chalet or something.

alright, so i got two 6oz for $5. one of the klutz and one of the brassneck ale.

klutz + brassneck

the klutz is light in colour and has mild notes of hops. it’s simple, but effective in communicating some sort of fermented ale flavour that makes even my rejected porn star blood circulate.

the brassneck is your good old fashioned pale ale, which apparently they work really hard on. i’m not gonna argue because something about this little cup tasted damn right classic. the real classic is indeed not iggy azalea, it is this beer, my friends.

if there’s one thing this place might want to learn, it is like some sort of food that isn’t weird-ass pepperoni sticks. i mean, like, they’re fun but they remind me of this one summer i was in new mexico and i was dating this guy whose family went bankrupt from their pepperoni business and let’s just say copious amounts of alcohol and pepperoni really don’t taste that delicious coming up.

all in all, needless to say, this place is your go-to for cheap craft beer with a cool vibe.

Salut, my friends!

I’m here to tell you about an adventure I recently had! It was pretty rad, I must say.

You’ve probably heard of the place, it’s called Fourty-Ninth Parallel Coffee Roasters, and guess what they do?

THAT’S RIGHT THEY ROAST COFFE. LA LA LA.

They also have these little darlings called “Lucky’s Doughnuts” and man, am I one LUCKY girl to have these in my presence.

I am greeted by a delightful assortment of lovely, little doughnuts that are all screaming my name.  They’re in this golden box where they all have these snazzy little name tags.  My mind is a tad scattered when I walk in, but I manage to settle for a chocolate chip cookie dough, and a crème brûlée doughnut.  I stare at their ‘New-Age’ coffee drinks and settle for a mocha, because girl needs her chocolate fix.  I feel a tad out of place in ratty white Converse and a ribbed tank top. To fit in, you kind of want that clean, polished, hipster-wearing-plaid look.

coffee and friiiends

Anyway, once you get used to the vibe, and you cry about the fact that there’s no wi-fi on weekend’s until 4PM, it’s a pretty awesome deal. They push you down this assembly line of smooth-feeling (seriously, caress the counter when you’re there!) wooden counter and eventually call out your order in a cheery fashion. Finding a table is kind of a weird deal, but eventually I find a seat at this cutesy community table, which I almost carve my name into.

This community table is a real MIX of people. There’s a mom and her baby, and her husband (partner? I don’t know.) There is a girl with dreads and she is rocking it.  (What is her secret? What is her shampoo?) Also, I think the two guys at the end are on a first date, and like, it looks kind of awkward.  I bet the one who ordered the bacon doughnut doesn’t know that the other one is a vegetarian, now THAT would be good. I do think my cat, Tabby, would even have a good meow-meow-laugh at that dynamic.

LOOK! You can see the people on the other side of the glass ICING the doughnuts.  Now THAT is special. Wow, there’s one that even has peanut butter inside it! This place is just insane with variety!

I really should eat my doughnuts.

Okay, here goes:

WOW.

The chocolate chip cookie dough is real, real, real.

It’s decadent, rich, moist, and chocolatey. (Yes, the most important factor.) I may consider eloping with this doughnut.

Next, the creamy bruleyy thing!

OKaaay. That was kind of life changing in a way where you don’t want to go back. Like, when you try something so wrong it’s right.

PEOPLE. There is burnt sugar with a creamy creamy dreamy vanilla cream inside and it is damn right.  This is kind of what dreams are made of, and by kind of I really mean: damn it, I want clouds to be made out of this stuff so I can fly my friend Amanda’s private jet up there every day just to eat it.

Seriously, the doughnuts are NUTS.

I’m sorry, I had to.

Anyway, I must say this is a fantastic place to people watch and laugh at other people as they try to write or like finish their novel or whatever artsy hipsters do. I don’t actually know.

It is a tad, TAD pricey so make sure to bring your change purse, your wallet, and your REAL purse cause girl is gonna need it unless she’s on a date with someone real, real, rich. You feel me?

Anyway, this experience changed my outlook on life, and it’s safe to say you may see me there at least twice a week since, like, I only live down the block.