I don't think I've ever had brunch in a dive bar before, but I will again. Graffiti's is a hodge-podge of paint, bric-a-brac, grit and Kensingtonian squalor. You could make a drinking game tallying Elvis sightings in this place. I decided to hit up the Black Metal Brunch on Sunday morning and I was not disappointed. There is something exquisite about enjoying eggs benny and sipping coffee while listening to hardcore and death metal.
But I didn't do the benny.
Possibly spurred on by screams on the soundtrack, I ordered the highly badass White Trash Chicken Bake. Breaded fried chicken tenders ensconced in mashed potatoes, corn, and rich gravy. Sweet sassy molassy, it's wicked good. I ate the whole thing. THE WHOLE THING. I'm going back. And it looks like a pretty chill place for a drink too. Wish it was a little bit more spacious, but that's part of it's charm I suppose.
Obligatory Title Pun: TAG, this place is it!
Menu Readability: Two words: skull typeface.
Need to mention: Any other time I walk by this place, there seems to be a band playing.
What this place teaches me about myself: Metal: it's what's for breakfast.