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| - I noticed that a couple of trendy places have crept ahead of Pittsburgh's true, best breakfast joint, Pamela's. They may not have a vegan hippie rolling imported organic oats one at a time, or have yogurt cultured with bacteria scraped from the armpits of tibetan monks, but what they do have here is transcendent, albeit unconventional, pancakes at the top of a roster of magnificent diner fare. Those pancakes, a kind of sort of hybrid between flapjacks and crepes--let's call 'em Crepes 'Murican are crazy good straight with butter, or doused in maple syrup, or rolled up around berries and whipped creme. These may not be better than sex, but it's a close call and probably depends upon the company you keep. The pancakes come with bacon or sausage, in a portion that defeated me--a Casey Hampton-esque mountain of a man with an obsessive preoccupation for breakfast food. Maybe it was the the side of lyonnaise potatoes I shared with my companion--and don't be put off by the french name, those taters and just crazy good homefries, some onions tossed in for good measure, fried up in butter until crispy on the side and sumptuously fluffy between. There's a ton of other good stuff here, omelets to fit the taste and whims of a tourbus full of Belgian aristocrats, sausage and chorizo and a lot of other stuff I ignored because, you know, pancakes. PANCAKES.
Now all and all, it is great that new places are opening and gaining traffic, but this business of Pamela's, with its hundreds of great reviews, showing up below the young pretenders, who've seen a dozen or two dozen reviews, will not stand. Pamela's is still the king--or Queen, if you will. Don't forget it.
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