And so we have reached the final part of the Los Angeles weekend bloga (if you don't know what that is by now, screw it, I tried to invent a word). If you haven't read Part Three yet,
click here to read up!
WHILE WE WERE NURSING OUR LAUGH HANGOVERS...Considering the epic day we had on Saturday, the four of us were more than content with the fact that not a single one of us bothered to set an alarm for Sunday morning. We slowly started shuffling around the room and getting ready for some breakfast (not before we called for a late checkout, of course). The day before, I had taken the time to ask Mr. Hipster-iPad man if there were any good brunch places on Sunset Strip, and without hesitating he said, "If you don't mind the wait, The Griddle Cafe has the best pancakes in town." Boom-bam-bing, say no more! On a vacation with no plans, I was
happy to wait in a line if it meant a pancake pot-of-gold on the other side of the rainbow!
So we took a nice long walk down the strip to the highly touted brunch hub known as The Griddle Cafe, and as soon as we were within two blocks of the place, we realized that everything Mr. Hipster-iPad man said was true. Not only could we smell some wonderfully intoxicating sweets ruminating from the doors of this place, but we could also see not one, but
two sets of lines waiting to get in! We walked in and put our name on the list, and walked back outside, curious why everyone was in line if they had put their name on the list. Everyone was thoroughly confused, but I soon learned that my UCLA basketball game campout history had prepared me well for this moment.
*SIDE STORY: While in college, my friends and I had tickets to UCLA basketball games, and we would camp outside the arena for every single game to make sure we got a "priority pass", which allowed us to be the first ones in the stadium the next day to get our preferred seats. To do this, we would show up around 2:00pm the afternoon prior with sleeping bags, pillows, footballs and (some) class-work and sit outside Pauley Pavilion until 6:00am the following morning (day of the game). Once you arrived down to the campout, you would put yours and your partner's name on "The List" (very official piece of college-ruled paper), and once you had done that, either you or your partner had to be there at all times. The rule prevented random twerps from coming down, writing their name on the list, then continuing right along to a class or frat-party without actually camping out and deserving a spot traditionally reserved for the most dedicated of fans. How was it enforced? Well, we would do roll-call every hour or so, calling off every name on the list, and if those people weren't there, we would all yell "1-2-3, So Long Chief!" and the line-leader would cross off their names. I always appreciated the simplicity of this rule, and the joy of eliminating some line-cutter. Hey, this is serious stuff...no cuts, no butts, no coconuts.
Yeah, we camped outside to sit up close in here, so?With that in mind, let us transition back to the brunch line. After putting our name on the waiting list, we then had to go outside and stand in line, because every 15-20 minutes or so, the restaurant host would come outside and run down his list to make sure we were all there (as opposed to putting our name in and then going down to Starbucks to wait). It all made sense, and I was happy to explain this phenomenon to Julie, Peter and Dana, who were all new to what I obviously knew as Basic Campout Rules. Who needs class in college when basketball teaches me real life lessons?!
I did have one problem with their line system. Because their restaurant is so small and packed, they split us into two lines - one for parties of two, and one for all parties three or more. Since they have so many couples show up, eat and leave relatively quickly, they often times had tables free up for two, so couples in the 2-person line that came well over 30 minutes after us were being seated while we still had four parties of four ahead of us in our line. I call this the Social Jealousy Discrimination. Hey, just cuz I got friends, don't hate!
The Griddle CafeSo following a solid 45-60 minute wait, we were finally seated inside and were promptly presented with our menus and had drink orders taken (I emphasize this point because as packed as this place was, I was shocked with the quality and SPEED of the service...huge props to the staff of The Griddle Cafe). The only thing more shocking than the service was the menu. I mean, holy hell. This place had the most amazing selection of flavored pancakes I had ever seen, and more likely than not, than I'll
ever see. They had everything from Oreo-cookie stuffed pancakes, to Frosted Flake pancakes to Red Velvet pancakes...and they had over three pages of just pancakes! I would like ALL of you to take the time to look at the menu options, because it was the most wonderfully overwhelming experience of my young life:
The Griddle Cafe MenuAfter scouring the menu options for far too long, I decided I was in a french toast mood (which allowed me to at least keep my options to one page). So I ended up choosing the Apple Cobbler French Toast, which had a write-up that read: "Our thick-sliced apple bread rolled in our cinnamon crunch batter and grilled to perfection. Served with baked cinnamon apples (Home, Sweet Home!)." How could I resist?!
We quickly discovered that this place had abnormally large portions, as they presented three pancakes to each of my co-eaters, when all three of them were incapable of eating
one. It was almost depressing to see how much food was left on their plates at the end of the meal, especially when compared to the absolutely defeatedly-full expressions on their over-indulged faces. All I have to say is, I housed my Apple Cobbler French Toast...and regretted it the rest of the day. My stomach has no limits...until it's too late.
Overall Review - The Griddle Cafe has my ultimate respect for its waiting line rules, regulations, terms and conditions. The food was probably a 9.5/10, and the only reason it's missing 0.5 is because sometimes an overwhelmingly large portion can prove to be unappetizing. But if I'm back on Sunset any time soon (which, if you read on, you'll understand why I might not be rushing back to the L.A. roads), I'll be back waiting in line at Griddle Cafe...but only with Julie, cuz I want that 2-person line!
So after we finished our meal (or in their case, made their feeble attempts at attacking the stacks of pancakes), we decided to go check out Venice Beach before we headed home. So we figured we'd jump on Venice Boulevard and make our way down to the beach. It was a good thought.
If only we got there...But what we were forgetting was that attempting to access Venice Beach, on a Sunday afternoon, on a beautiful weekend is almost impossible. As we neared the beach, we anticipated seeing palm trees and roller-bladers, but instead, all we saw were brake lights. Lots and lots of brake lights. From the time we left the hotel to the time we got to the coast (15 miles), it had taken us roughly 75 minutes. Of that time, the last 45 was spent rolling two cars per green light. And then when we did get down there, there was absolutely zero parking to be found under the price of $30/car.
Now, in times of frustration, I am a relatively calm guy, and especially on the roads, I just expect some dumb drivers and long traffic and just suck it up. Well, I had hit my limit on Sunday. Between the slight hangover I was still experiencing, the pulsing stomach ache from too much Apple Cobbler French Toast, the sun beating on me through the car and the unmoving traffic, I began to flip my sh*t. And poor Julie started to watch me unravel. I was about to lose it. All I wanted to do was scream...or act out the scene below from Bruce Almighty...
Bruce Almighty Traffic Jam Scene.
Well, after driving around forever, we decided to just leave and go to grab some lunch away from the mayhem, then cruise back to S.D. I got some Fro-Yo, took a breath, and all was right in the universe again.
All-in-all, that was one hell of a weekend. From the hike to The Comedy Store to breakfast, the trip had some unforgettable moments, and some moments I can't wait to put out of memory as well. But hey, my boots are dry, my car keys are in my pocket, I no longer feel Apple Cobbler french toast in my stomach, and I am nowhere near Venice Beach. So it's all good.
But if only I could have met the
other kid from BIG...
Where did you go, Jared Rushton?
POTPOURRI
