He had me at "biscuits."
For months my friend has been telling me that Quality Restaurant on Third Street, just west of Fairfax makes a... err... quality breakfast. He moaned on and on about the Crab Eggs Benedict -- gushing that it was served on a biscuit and was "the best thing ever." Though eloquent, his diatribe was meaningless to me. I hate hollaindaise sauce. Loathe the stuff. Well, okay, technically I've never actually had hollaindaise, but it just looks gross and I am not a fan of raw eggs. Or Salmonella. Raw cookie dough consumers disgust me.
Despite my aversion to yellow-colored, thick sauces, my friend kept insisting that I try Quality. Anytime I would ask him for a brunch suggestion, he immediately answered, "Quality." It was annoyingly convincing, and since I really really like biscuits, I finally decided to heed his advice this past Sunday.
Even though I live less than a mile away from the unassuming cafe that attracts the polar opposite crowd of the one that congregates around Toast down the block, I have always snubbed my nose at the restaurant. The brown signage makes it look sort of dirty from the outside, and I like my brunching and lunching spots to be cute and quaint -- not brown and icky. Upon entering the restaurant yesterday at approximately 1 pm, I was shocked to discover that it is not icky at all inside. It is actually kind of lovely! While there aren't pretty little flowers or pictures adorning the space, the tables have the most becoming sea foam green wooden chairs, and the whole ambiance is very neighborly and welcoming. So welcoming in fact that even though my friend had not yet arrived, the woman manning the action let me sit down at a cozy table for two while I waited.
As a whole, service was a bit spotty, but the food was anything but. The huge menu boasts a variety of omelets, egg dishes, sandwiches and salads, and it took me a few moments to decide that I was in a hearty breakfast mood rather than a light lunch mood. I did sort of covet the orange and avocado salad that a girl at a neighboring table was pretending to devour, but settled on the artichoke heart, spinach, mushroom, and feta omelet instead ($9.95). The omelet is served with home fries, but for $1.95 extra, I was able to substitute for fruit instead. And not even sucky hard melon-type fruit. Oh no, my friends, this fruit was a virtual cornucopia of delights that included strawberries, kiwi, banana, blueberries, oranges, grapefruit, pineapple, and a few slices of the offending melons. Paired with a warm buttermilk biscuit and homemade strawberry jam, I was on a path toward serious mid-day meal satisfaction.
While the above picture makes it appear as though my omelet is slightly overcooked, it didn't taste overcooked at all. Of course, I am the same girl who frowns upon hollaindaise because it is contaminated by raw eggage, so I might not be the most trustworthy of aficionados concerning proper egg doneness. Runny or even moist eggs give me the hibby gibbies, so I was quite thrilled that my veggie-licious omelet was served sans jiggle. It wasn't the most attractive looking dish -- the dull-colored mushrooms did absolute horrors to the eggs' complexion, but the flavor combination of the 'chokes, mushrooms, feta, and spinach was spot on. And I'm not even particularly fond of shrooms! Neither the drug nor the unattractive food product. I won the D.A.R.E. essay contest in 6th grade -- I just say "no!" to recreational substances!
Regardless of my potential deficiencies at determining an egg dish's excellence, my brunching partner also loved her omelet (the same as mine but without the shrooms and with goat cheese instead of feta), and the girl at the table next to ours kept telling her non-eating salad friend how much she liked hers too. But even if the eggs did sucketh, the warm biscuits that are served alongside the entrees are so good that I am contemplating returning to order just a plate of biscuits. With the sweet homemade strawberry jam and a pot of Stash green tea ($2.95), I'd be the happiest camper in Weho-adjacent land! (As long as the raw eggs are in far far away land.)