Disco brunch

Our friend Nancy was in town from Fargo on Tuesday night, so we took Wednesday off work presuming we'd wind up getting nicely shellacked and thus unwilling make it into work the next day. I mean, we were going to an Irish bar with a refugee from America's Drunkest City, on Fat Tuesday, time to party, right? Not so much when the guest of honor has a class the next morning. So instead of flashing people on Hennepin Avenue for beads (which I would never do, and sorry if you were eating) 7:30 found me at home in flannel pants with a tiny kitten walking all over me. And that's okay, because having Wednesday off meant we could go to brunch at Spring Street!

Spring Street Tavern, tucked away on Monroe and (duh) Spring Street in Northeast Minneapolis, is absolutely fabulous. I almost always get the same thing every time, because their sausage egg and American cheese on an English muffin is a thing of beauty. It's what you want when you get McDonalds, thinking it's going to be the best thing you've ever eaten and consarn it why do those morons not serve breakfast all day. Of course, when you get done with your McMuffin you realize you have crumbs of egg yolk on your sweatshirt and you're going to have gas so bad it might just put the nail in the coffin of your marriage. At Spring Street, the egg is real and your husband is so happy with his Philly cheese steak that your nonstop farting (I blame the sausage) is simply adorable.

Also, the place in itself is a trip. We walked in yesterday to the dulcet tones of Jump Around on the jukebox. The table behind us referred to each other as hookers and entertained themselves by shouting "PENIS!!!" for a solid minute. I think that was after they did shots of Jameson. (Did I mention this was brunch? Like, one in the afternoon?) The music alternated between '90s alternative and Now! That's What I Call Gay Bar! Both bartenders were out, proud, and flaming. Nobody cared that I was in track pants and a NDSU hoodie. No judgment, no bad mojo, just love and some greasy tater tots.

The funniest thing is...my mom loves Spring Street! We first took her there one summer Saturday and took advantage of their patio. It's really more of a smoker's patio, but when it's 77 and sunny I will take a little secondhand with my French toast al fresco. Nobody was screaming about naughty bits and we didn't hear any Scissor Sisters, but it was definitely an experience Phyllis was not going to have in Ham Lake! There was a dude in the corner chilling out and playing guitar, and she thought that was just the neatest thing! The sun had set by the time she finished her omelet, but that's to be expected. A happy mom is all that matters at the end of the day.

Next up on the Ma and Pa Bucket List per my father's request is Psycho Suzi's. That's right, Harold Goin has informed me that he wants to go to a TIKI BAR. You read it here first!