I am busy. I am busier than I ever remember being, frankly, and it’s only getting worse. Barely two months into my first semester as a senior at USF, I feel like I don’t have time to breathe. I just can’t wait for exams week.
I’d be a fool to complain, though. I spend every day discussing Shakespeare’s plays, learning a new language (Spanish – it’s going muy bien, gracias), and inventing or dissecting fiction. The very best part? My classes don’t even start until 2 p.m. What a life.
Of course, the majority of my “free” time is devoted to homework. The standard rule here is that, for every hour you spend in class, you should be spending three hours in “preparation” for that class. For me, this would equal approximately 60 hours a week.
People, I didn’t work that hard when I was getting paid.
Basically, my social life is over. I mean it. I haven’t been out since Bush’s approval rating was in the 40s. Besides drinking beer on my front porch, there’s only one real joy left to me in this world: breakfast.
That’s right, you heard me. Breakfast – the most abused and forgotten meal of the day. Of course, for me, breakfast is usually fruit and oatmeal. Or the occasional fried egg. But when the weekend rolls around, look out, world! It’s party time.
Now, as anybody who knows my partner, Maria, will tell you, she’s an incredible cook. I am spoiled in the food department (and ruined in the waistline department, but I digress). But, who wants to get up first thing on Saturday and cook me a three course breakfast? (Please send a sample of your cooking for review. Serious inquiries only.)
So, Maria and I have cultivated something of a weekend tradition. Our big event is now scouring the downtown area for sweet breakfast sites. And, so that my hard work will not go to waste I will share them with you, in no particular order.
Okay, so our favorite stop used to be Gold Coffee Shop on 1st Avenue North, across from the bus line at Williams Park. The service was great (unless you got the senile old woman who never, ever remembered a thing you said), and the simple eggs-and-homefries cooking was always perfect to soak up last night’s beer run. Alas, Gold’s dynasty was not to be. Turns out they had been renting the space all these many years from a discrete little organization known as the Church of Scientology. The Hubbard-lovers have since reclaimed their prime downtown real estate, and so Gold is gone.
Do not despair, greasy spoon seekers. As Yoda once said, “There is another.” If any of you long for Gold (or just a good hangover cure), then you’ve got to check out Central Coffee Shop (530 Central Avenue). It’s not nearly as big as Gold was, but it is my personal opinion that the food is much better. There are even nudie pictures of Marilyn Monroe on the wall. What could possibly go better with a western omelet? Get there wicked early, or closer to lunch, if you want a seat on the weekend.
But, if you don’t get a seat at Central, you can always walk across the street to The Dome Grill. Pros: You don’t have to move your car. Cons: Everything else. No offense to the very nice folks at The Dome (yes, they really are nice. It’s a family-run deal, I think), but the set up is just not what I’m in the mood for first thing in the morning. The Dome is sort of cafeteria-style, and you’ve got to stand in a line to order. Then, you’ve got to wait, perched with a ticket, ready to jump up and get your grub. It’s a very no-nonsense, DIY kind of scene. But, the prices are decent, the food’s pretty good, and if you’re lucky, you can sit outside and watch the diverse and always-entertaining throng that is downtown’s weekend crowd.
Now finally (and when I said “in no particular order,” I lied), my very favorite breakfast stop – and, when I say “favorite,” I mean I love this place so much, I want to weep for joy just thinking about it – is Ceviche’s new little sister restaurant, Pincho y Pincho (10 Beach Drive). Now, the name of this place is something of a joke between Maria and I because “pincho” means “I pinch” in Spanish. However, my resident Spanish expert also informs me that “pincho” is a toothpick, and thus the word Northern Spaniards use for tapas. The idea here is that they serve little bites of food, tapas-style. This is something of a misnomer, in my opinion, because Pincho y Pincho serves fairly large plates of breakfast fare. But this is no greasy spoon, my friend.
I have had their ginormous egg-manchego-croissant with apple-smoked (or something like that) bacon. I have had their tortilla Espanola with some yummy pink sauce and fresh-squeezed OJ. Clearly, I’m no restaurant critic, but I just love the fact that there’s a place in St. Pete where I can find “non-traditional,” and rather sophisticated breakfast items for (and I am not even making this up) about the amount of change I can scrape out of my couch. Unlike her pricey sister, Pincho y Pincho rivals Gold for cheap eats.
Oh, and it’s so cute, really. Inside the tiny, 400 square foot restaurant – all dark wood, Spanish tile and real Serrano hams hanging from the walls – you will find three tables and a bar which seats about 10 people, elbow to elbow. There are bistro seats outside, too, and despite the fact that this place serves the best breakfast in town, I have never had to wait to sit down. Not that I have any idea really, but I swear, it feels just like Spain.
Okay, so there you go. You no longer have an excuse to miss breakfast – at least not on the weekends. On the other hand, I clearly can no longer use Maria as an excuse for my big fat lard butt.
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