Good Morning.
Three of my family members and I went to a downtown restaurant for breakfast on Sunday morning. The place is owned by a gentleman who was one of the top political operatives for Barack Obama. He started up his business in a large office complex but moved to a location that used to be an auto service outfit, extremely out of place across from some historic brownstones. The space has now been completely renovated with a loft vibe even though it's on the street level. We all know the look, but it was done particularly well for this venue with concrete floors, exposed ductwork, lots of almost floor-to-ceiling windows, and eclectic furnishings that include long, wooden tables for ten, bar-height tables for four, booths, and a variety of chairs and stools. There's also a counter with seating. The ceiling is wood with interesting latticework, the interior doors are barn-style with strap hinges, and there's a large fireplace.
The place was absolutely packed yesterday with a crowd that tended to be under the age of forty and very attractive. In my city, most of the buildings in the thriving downtown area are filled with boutiques, bars, eateries, and coffee houses, but the upstairs have all been converted into lofts that appeal to the younger, professional set. Half of these people were probably at the restaurant yesterday, and the lines were long. The deal is you order, get a number, and someone brings your food to you. The food is excellent with everything prepared from scratch on site, right down to the English muffins for the Eggs Benedict.
The coolest thing about the place, however, is that you can bring your dog as long as he or she is on a leash. There were several wandering around yesterday and they were happy to greet those of us who don't mind a few canine kisses now and then. My favorite was a St. Bernard-Siberian Husky combo named Gucci who was very large and gentle as a lamb. He didn't even pull on his leash when his owner was getting sugar and cream for her coffee. I never heard a single bark in the entire ninety minutes we were there.
Apparently a lot of high school kids turn the place into a study hall between three and five in the afternoon, and I don't blame them a bit. What could be better than doing homework at one of the long tables with a cup of something warm by the fire, a luscious pastry, and an occasional dog that happens by. Of course if you don't like dogs, this is not the setting for you to do anything, and may I respectfully suggest that you not travel to England where dogs are often present in retail locations and restaurants. I once sat down in a booth at a dark, pubbish sort of place in London and was delighted to find a dog curled up underneath the table. He or she stayed there throughout the meal, and the restaurant had a nice, relaxed atmosphere with good-natured customers.
Which brings me to my point. The people who were at Steve's place yesterday were all in an excellent mood. They were patient while they waited in line to order and shared the long tables with people they didn't know from a load of hay. I'm guessing that the pleasantry had little to do with the lingering spirit of the season but probably meant the patrons liked dogs. People who like dogs tend to be pretty sociable, and Steve apparently figured that out when he opened his restaurant. It's going gang busters.
Best regards,
Elisabeth
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