I ask you what would you do when you go and pick your red Ferrari up? What is the first thing you do in that car? Put the top down, turn the bass up, light your cigarrette, and what? Go to the Original Pancake House (OPH as me and my Vegas crew call it). That's what I do. And I'm not playing.
I'm driving on the freeway with one thing in mind. My challah french toast. I want my front parking spot, why I don't know because none of the spots there are in the shade at all, and want my breakfast. Thick slices of beautiful challah, dipped and cooked up all perfect with some strawberries. Oh, my strawberries, yes please. Extra please. Throw down some coffee with that, a little O.J. ya'll and watch your fingers. If you get too close to my toast you're gonna lose a hand. I'll even take an extra order to go knowing that they don't do takeout orders. That way I know I'll be totally taken care of in three hours, when my sugar high has crashed and I know I want more. I've even had my french toast with a glass of Chateau D'Yquem. That's sick. And it was delicious.
The service is fast, they have conveniently located restaurants. They close early, I think about 2:30 pm, so get your hungover asses outta bed and get some breakfast. It's a whole hell of a lot better than that IHOP shit they're always trying to feed us. I know it's not Waffle House guys, but that's a whole different story.