Neighbourhoods Dirty Johnny 2004-08-01

The Cat’s Meow

The Cat’s Meow, usually reserved for mid-afternoon beer-swilling and ass-leering, welcomed us with open arms and tight pants to our inaugural Breakfast within its couchy confines. While the crew and myself have made several prior visits to the Meow for drinks and more drinks, it never occurred to us until Sunday morning that the super-vixens employed there might actually serve breakfast as well. A quick call was placed and we were rapidly on our way to the place where dreams really do come true, and I don’t mean your mom’s house this time.

One of the most welcome luxuries offered by the Meow is their unbelievably ass-tastic faux leather couches. Is there any joy in life that can really compare to kicking your shoes off, plunking your butt down on a cushiony, leatherlike material and scarfing back your favourite breakfast comestibles, all the while waited on hand and foot by some of the most talented ladies in the service industry? In this man’s humble opinion, there is not. However, regardless of the amenities, a breakfast experience is only as good as the food itself, therefore, onwards with the analysis.

The starter for any breakfast vet is the coffee. The lovely, amazonian Michelle brought us our 50 cc’s of coffee, stat! and we were off to the races.

From what I gathered, the menu seemed to offer pretty standard fare brunch items; the usual “classic” composed of two eggs, very well cooked taters, toast and the ubiquitous choice of pork products (including ham!!), several bennys, omelettes etc. What instantly caught my attention as well as that of Dazzer and Junior was the Strawberry pancakes. Not only did these bad boys come with strawberry puree, whip cream and a couple of fresh berries on the side, they actually had chunks of strawberries cooked right in with the batter! “Hot Damn!” I exclaimed aloud upon revealing this miraculous fusion of dough and fruit. I have to say, I’m a big pancake guy and I’m pretty particular about my golden discs of heart disease but these babies were the shit. After having sampled these beauties, De Dutch can suck my De Dick. Dazzer could barely contain his mirth as he vacuumed them up, ignoring all thoughts of mastication in the process.

Duck-boy chose to branch out this crazy Sunday and ordered the standard benny. In doing so, it seems he uncovered one of the most physically astounding feats ever accomplished by man. Somehow whatever greasy-faced teen was working the poacher managed to cook the yolk of the egg while the white maintained it’s fresh-out-of-the-chicken liquidity. Truly revolutionary. Bottom line, “I’ve had better”, quoth the Duck.

Junior and I both supplemented our pancake meal with one of the aformentioned traditional breakfasts and I, for one, was quite pleased. Although the toast was underdone and there weren’t quite enough expertly cooked hb’s for my liking, everything else was top-notch. The only rub… the price. Forking over $7.49 for the “classic” makes you wonder what kind of endangered bird’s nest they’re thieving these eggs from.