I go out on this wet dreary day after Christmas to snag a Greek omelet at Mr. Filet, only to find the place closed for the holidays until Jan. 5. The ‘two Georges’ sling eggs and steak day in, day out so I can’t fault them for taking time off to be with their families, but bloody hell I am hosed.
So I venture about downtown looking for a joint that’s open other than the crappy hotel buffets and the pricey quiche at Java Joes. So I stumble into Crave Italian American on Sixth St. where Sheffield’s used to be, but not before immersing both feet in a slushy pool of brown water crossing the street to get there.
The place is empty except for one dude surfing the web and one bored kid. Things are pretty laid back here. As the seconds passed by while I pondered the breakfast selections, surfer dude asked the kid to go find the cook.
Upon his arrival I waited patiently while he handled a phone order and took care of a small quick purchase by some businesswoman. Getting around to ordering, I threw caution to the wind and requested an ‘Ova Casserole’, which consisted of eggs, potatoes, Italian sausage, roasted red bell peppers (skins on), mushrooms, melted provolone cheese, topped with a marinara sauce and served with slice of Italian bread, very lightly toasted. I paid with debit card and in my absentmindedness did not take stock of my lack of small bills, so in the end I left without a tip. Very bad, my mistake.
Waiting for my meal I dispensed a cup of Seattle’s Best decaf and sat down to read the latest Cityview. Things were going well until one of the owners cranked up some ambience music from some live concert for some unknown contemporary adult rock band. The three minutes of nonstop audience cheering at the beginning of the CD did not sit well with enjoying my meal in peace, and the music wasn’t anything to crow about. Bland, boring drivel that could be excreted out of anybody seeking an unremarkable career.
However, bland and boring could be the farthest thing said about the Ova Casserole. I was skeptical about the marinara sauce over eggs, but it married well with all the Italian flavors prevalent throughout the dish. Both ingenious and tasty, it’s worth a repeat.
Crave happens to have the singular distinction, aside of the coffee shops and the aforementioned hotel buffets, to be the only joint open downtown on Saturday. I’ve seen while window browsing that they offer biscuits and gravy on their Saturday menu. I’ll have to give it a whirl sometime.
The meals are served on disposable plates, not very environmentally friendly, and you have to get up to grab your plasticware, napkins, etc. so I don’t feel terribly awful about leaving no tip on this occasion. I just chucked my dirty plate in the garbage, brushed off the table and split.
Can the bloody music and I could see coming back more often.
I still would rather have my Greek omelet and the joviality of the ‘two Georges’. A man’s got to stay true to his roots.
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