There are two Buttermilk commandments that I had to learn firsthand: 1) They don't serve brunch on Saturdays (I learned this after walking across the Brooklyn Bridge and the 2 miles it takes to get there) and 2) They do not serve alcohol before noon on Sunday (which was a Rick James smack to the face because you get a free mimosa, bellini, or sparking wine with brunch). After learning the system, I ordered the pecan pie french toast. If I'm at any restaurant and I see pecan pie for dessert, blinders automatically come up and I can't read the other desserts. Anyway, the pecan pie french toast came out and I had enough will power to actually take a picture before I dived in and didn't talk (or breathe) for 7 minutes. It was quite an Usher "OMG" moment where I could hear the lyrics in my head:
Baby let me love you downnn
There’s so many ways to love ya
Baby I can break you downnn
There’s so many ways to love ya
Got me like, ooh myy gosh I’m soo in love
I found you finallyy, you make me want to say
Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh,
Ohh myy gosh
There’s so many ways to love ya
Baby I can break you downnn
There’s so many ways to love ya
Got me like, ooh myy gosh I’m soo in love
I found you finallyy, you make me want to say
Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh,
Ohh myy gosh
I marveled at the engineering prowess of a pecan pie crust with candied pecans embedded into the "french toast". My girlfriend ordered the cheddar waffles and pork chops pounded thin (and I barely noticed during my 7 minute eating blackout - the only proof was the picture I don't remember taking).
No comments:
Post a Comment