Brandon T.
Yelp
Chapter 21
On a lazy Sunday morning in Minneapolis, destiny, or maybe just a well-timed growling stomach, led us to Farmer's Kitchen + Bar. Nestled underneath condos in the heart of the Mill City district, this quaint spot was preparing to serve its breakfast soliloquies.
The breakfast sandwich with bacon arrived first. The bacon was a proud character, thick-cut and assertive. It was a rebel with a cause, sandwiched between layers of grilled bread that were as comforting as a mother's lullaby.
Then came the Farmers classic breakfast with turkey sausage. A straightforward, humble dish, it was like a Midwestern farmer himself - strong, dependable, a bit of a straight arrow but surprisingly complex when you got to know it. The turkey sausage was a lean novel of flavors, each bite a tantalizing page turn.
The blueberry muffin was a small planet of sweetness in the cosmos of our breakfast. It was moist, fresh, and not too sweet, a celestial body orbiting around the heart of our meal. Every bite was a journey to a far-off constellation of flavor - a simple, homely constellation, but nevertheless radiant.
Enter the combine cookie, an understated hero of our breakfast narrative. Its appearance belied the melange of tastes that hid beneath its surface. We washed it down with sips of coffee that were like warm interludes, allowing us to absorb and appreciate the story unfolding on our table.
The Bloody Mary was the spicy sidekick, a merry companion adding a zesty zing to our morning. Its spice was an exclamation mark punctuating our breakfast experience.
This eatery was not bustling at 10:00 a.m., a calm oasis in the city. The prices, inclusive of tips, were reasonable, akin to paying admission for a heartwarming indie movie. The service was like a friend who understands your silence, attentive but unintrusive.
Thus, our morning at Farmer's Kitchen + Bar was more than just breakfast - it was an orchestration of flavors and experiences that played out on plates and in cups. As we emerged back into the sunlit city, the echoes of our gastronomical sonata still played in our memories, a testament to the tales that can be woven from everyday life.
I forgot to take photos. My bad.