Biscuits and Gravy

“I was hungry, but apparently I’m not a man,” he said, as he sheepishly poked at one of the five pancakes stacked on his massive plate. To be fair, he had polished off the three over medium eggs and four strips of bacon like a champ.  When his breakfast fit for a giant, starving trucker first arrived, he’d smothered the plate-sized cakes with whipped butter and a generous dose of syrup and vigilantly dove into the breakfast he had been so excited about.   Now, he was reluctant to admit defeat. 


His Twitter buddies had told him Deacon’s Corner was the place to go for pancakes in Gastown, so the deal was sealed.  Deacon’s Corner serves the quintessential greasy spoon breakfast, and has apparently collected quite a following of breakfast scenesters to its unlikely Main and Alexander location.  If you’re not there early enough, expect to wait in line for a table, or a spot at their old school diner counter.  You’ll recognize the guys running the show as the same ones behind the Latin tapas hit, Cobre, just a few blocks away.


As we sat at the counter, I noticed that the girl beside me had ordered something I’ve always cherished my arteries too much to even dream of ordering – sausage with biscuits and country gravy.  The sausage patties lay flaccidly atop buttery yellow biscuits and glistened with speckles of grease peeking through the creamy white gravy coating.  I watched her cut into them with morbid fascination. 


My breakfast was nearly as massive as the failed hungry man’s: a veggie omelet with mushrooms, cheddar, peppers, onion and spinach, brown toast and hash browns.  I managed to make it through two thirds of the omelet and about half of the mildly spicy shredded potatoes.  The omelet did appeal to my taste buds, the way anything swimming in buttery, cheesy goodness would.  I’m only human. 


Deacon’s Corner certainly has the classic greasy breakfast down to a science.  We agreed that had we been hung over, we would have appreciated our meals as much as any moisture deprived victim of alcohol poisoning would welcome the ingestion of a gallon of melted butter, cheese and bacon fat. I’m not normally a fan of plates of food the size of a spare tire (which I would surely sprout if I ate at Deacon’s on a regular basis), so I felt rather wasteful to throw in the towel with enough food left on my plate to feed another person. My breakfast date took his remaining pancakes to go and was defeated once again when he failed to finish them at home.


I plan to skip breakfast one day and return to Deacon’s to take a shot at their lunch menu. I bet they make a mean mac ‘n’ cheese.


The End

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