I dunno. Everyone else seems to like this joint, but there’s something not right for me. It’s probably me. Yep. It’s me. No, really, I’m wrong.
The restaurant specializing in breakfast has one big limitation; the gap it needs to negotiate between acceptable and first rate is narrow. The difference between greasy spoon and huevos haute can be as simple as the cleanliness of the cutlery or the strength of the coffee. It’s a commodity game, so to stand out you need to be a champion kayaker if you’re aiming to shoot these pre-noon rapids.
Food quality runs that same tight gorge. The difference between a serviceable Greek omelette and an unmemorable Greek omelette is a lesser standard of feta or eggs beaten for fifteen seconds more than necessary. Home fries – the staple of breakfast starches – must not only taste good and be appropriately seasoned, they should be uniformly hot. If not, it tells us they’ve been sitting too long. That is not the stuff of excellence.
Service, too, should be a place where a thoughtful restaurant can shine without much effort. Consistency is probably the key here. When you don’t know who is serving, or more importantly if the servers don’t know who is serving, then waters are troubled. And so is my breakfast.
I wanted to like the Toasted Mango more. It’s completely alright. Go there and contemplate the fine line between okay and excellent while you wait for your coffee refill.