Miguel R.
Yelp
As soon as I enter, I was happily greeted by the hanging flowers and balloon arches, that were all decorative and pretty but not immersive, I was not taken to the top floor of Paris Hilton's bubbly champagne flute. Like, the restaurant was cute to the max, but the max did not hit the chord of garden in full Spring bloom, decorated for a princesses sixth birthday party, the max hit more the tone of a high school gym that was decorated for prom and the committee who developed the space had access to a closet of wonderfully forgotten relics that saw better heyday parties but with enthusiasm and hours invested the committee made the space picture ready. If I were the parent of one of the members of that prom committee I would be proud of the effort.
The break in charming identity was most precent when one goes to the sole restroom of the place. The dining room is almost fully covered in joyous color and texture, and then when ones to the restroom, one walks this common hallway (yes, that I clipped). it has a brown floral arrangement in a corner but it is more an attempt that falls flat than a punch of elegance, especially since it has one of those poles that holds ropes in clubs. And the bathroom is not decorated in a cute way, either. it does, however, have chipped paint, maybe ripped, walls, that suggest that the cute air of the place did not embrace the bathroom, it was concentrated in an area, and the glitter did not reach the powder room. But still, where the place had the most flair of flower and balloon was an eye-bakery, the white silhouette of a Nightgale was lovely in its simplicity, and the share plate was fit for a tea party all pink with blue branches and florals. On the other hand, when I asked for a to go order it was a regular plastic bag, and the water cups were plastic, and the coffee I ordered was on a to go cup. So you see, even in post analysis of bite, I cannot see past the fog of confusion. But, I can say, that what I remember most, or what I chose to remember the most, is the cute of it all. What I can attest was a double win was the service and the food.
When I went, they had a breakfast. The sign read, "Enjoy. Complimentary Breakfast bar" that was available to dine-in guests only, as a show of gratitude for customers who patronize small business. My immediate thought was now I can enjoy maybe only a coffee and eat these many breakfast treats, and chocolates, and other sweet things. In fact, before I sat down, I grabbed a plate and put nuts on top. I did three plates of these nuts throughout the meal. I grabbed Ronnie the last small cup of strawberry shortcake, before someone else grabbed it. I took several packaged items and place them in the plastic bag I gave them. Did I abuse the breakfast bar? Perhaps. But it was inviting, it was there, and I felt like the purpose of this place was to invite engagement, so I was brave enough to accept hospitality. Did I put my feet up on the couch on the first visit, again, perhaps, but I felt like the restaurant put a pink cushion on the edge of the sofa, so who is really to blame--- the one who invites with indulgence or the one who accepts with shame abandoned? One of the many lovely staff members said that me enjoying myself was the "goal" so the answer is clear. Oh yes, the service was on point, and offered care, that made the pink of the place shine a bit brighter, like the glow of a good witches staff.
The food was the real glow of this place though. Ronny ordered the cinnamon toast cereal banana foster, and it confused my brain in a wonderful way. I have eaten Cinnamon Toast Crunch cereal before, my mind recognizes it, but in this dish, I chewed the milk, and the cereal together, and also enjoyed the fostered bread, it was all new and snapped my neurons into detective mode. One of the items in the breakfast (that I enjoyed like a bull in a cupcake shop) were Danish cookies and I used one of them to sop the cinnamon milk glaze remains, like I do with parker house rolls and really good steak remains. I sopped because not doing so would be letting joy inducing food go to waste. I drank the Biscotti Latte and it was a dream in a to-go cup. My mind was newly confused I was sipping cookies that I chewed in days prior. It was sweetness embellished with cookie crumbs. It was a pleasure to enjoy because it interrupted the meal so it could become old friends enjoying exciting and also comforting food. We were pals in a Parisian cafe, we were pals in a Tokyo alley sharing Avocado Tempura (that was lightly fried to crisp delicacy, while the avocado taste was present) while we sat in crates that were decorated just so pretty, and most of us we were pals living our best life for the span of the meal. I did not want to get up and go, eventually we had to.
