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| - Dear St. Francis,
If you were a stripper and 5-stars were dollar bills, I'd be makin' it rain on you right now.
Thank you for a brunch feast that shall go down in history: consistency, top-notch quality, versatility, and prompt, friendly service, all to the sounds of Radiohead, The Black Keys, and Fleet Foxes.
My sister and I began by splitting the homemade buttermilk biscuit, which came out on two plates (without us asking), each half-biscuit topped with a sunny side up egg and doused in creamy, delicious, herbed onion gravy. I could've sworn I was somewhere directly below the Mason-Dixon line every time I took a bite. Absolutely nail'd it.
Next up was the iron skillet pancake - crisp on the outside, thick, warm and fluffy on the inside, studded with dark chocolate, topped with spiced apples, creme fraiche, and a light drizzle of maple syrup. Either this is a pancake, or those things I've been calling pancakes my whole life are pancakes, but not both. Regardless, this is the new standard to which all pancakes shall be held.
Lastly, I inquired about ordering the smoked salmon flatbread, even though it wasn't on the brunch menu. They made it happily, and we demolished it, happily. St. Francis actually makes the best crust I've ever had, and topped with cheese, lemon, capers, onion, creme fraiche and smoked salmon... it makes a bagel, lox & cream cheese look like an inedible compilation of garbage.
All in all, each dish was incomparable to the next, but of equal, fantastic quality and taste. Picking a favorite would be damn near impossible, so I think I'll just come back and order blindly off the menu, because St. Francis can do it all, and they do it best.
*throws a handful of singles in the air*
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