Lincoln T.
Yelp
Totally a fan!
Came to the Turf Club for jazz breakfast/brunch. Now mind you, this is after they've completed the remodel--and also, during the day--which makes the Turf Club brunch experience all that much better.
(I will have to do a Turf Club review about the music venue at night, but this will be a foodie review.)
First off...clean! It's Sunday morning and absolutely NO trace of a typical Saturday club night (sticky floors, dirty tables, soiled bathrooms, beer smell). It's light. Airy. Calm. The barkeep is chatty and tending to some locals...the pace is relaxed.
I'm seated near the windows (which I always prefer) and the waitress is more than accommodating. Other patrons have filtered in, some with kids. Good indication.
Dude spinning vinyl jazz and experimental tunes on the turntables near the middle of the room catches a cool vibe, responds to the feel of the room...and takes us all with him. Music is pleasant, soothing, edgy, and at times surprising. And why not? It's jazz brunch at the TC.
I order the 'All Day Breakfast.' What could be better than sunshine, smooth jazz spins, and eggs with coffee? And all in Sunday morning-paced Saint Paul? Lovely.
No sooner do I doff my coat, sign into the WiFi and set my phone down...than my food is delivered with a saucy smile by my millennial waitress. Such a cutie!
This platter is PERFECT. Eggs light, fluffy, buttery, and just the right texture (not flat and folded). Potatoes baked and fried to perfection, and generously thick, crispy slices of bacon still steaming (yum!) with big fat slices of expertly buttered toast--yay to my snacking sensibility!
So, I have to take a moment and explain my breakfast snacking.
While having breakfast in the far, far past with my grandmother (who was lace-curtain Irish), I once boldly perched my scrambled eggs atop my white toast and proceeded to much the impromptu open-faced sandwich with one hand.
My grandma--never taking an eye off me--placed her silverware on the table, politely folded her hands in her lap and looked at me with cool, Irish eyes. "So," she says primly, "I see we're snacking."
Mollified is hardly the word. Yet, as steely as the Irish can be, so too are they generous of heart. She allowed me to continue to "snack." And so, to this day, I always eat my scrambled eggs atop toast with one hand. Snacking (and table manners) be damned, it just tastes better! (At least that's what I tell myself.)
Anyways.
Back at the TC, I pile my fluffy golden eggs atop these gorgeous crisps of toast and proceed to...well, snack. Nearby children giggle. I smile at them and wink. They know.
I'm grooving to tunes, "snacking" on fresh, hot, and delicious eggs-and-toast, and being entranced by some understatedly fine tunes spun by a repertoire maestro. Holy Christ, what a nice Sunday.
So, in short: bring the kids, bring a date, bring your musician friends. Or simply fly solo, as I did. This is the place to dine...or snack...for brunch.