Sample Diner

The french toast arrived golden and fragrant, three thick slices of brioche arranged in a neat fan across a warm ceramic plate. A dusting of powdered sugar caught the morning light streaming through the window.

The bread itself had that ideal contrast—crisp exterior giving way to a custardy interior that hadn't crossed the line into soggy territory. The egg mixture had been seasoned with vanilla and a whisper of cinnamon, though neither dominated. This was french toast that knew what it was and didn't try to be anything else.

The maple syrup, served warm in a small pitcher, was the real stuff—none of that corn syrup imposter business. It pooled satisfyingly in the plate's slight depression, mixing with the butter melting off the toast's surface.

At $14 with a side of fruit, it sits comfortably in the neighborhood brunch price range. Nothing revolutionary, but sometimes you don't want a revolution. Sometimes you want french toast that tastes like french toast, made by people who care enough to get the basics right.

Would return on any given Sunday.