Even better were the breads, cakes, and pastries. I loved the small slices of sweet, oat-y toast with blackened edges. The multigrain pancake, big and oblong to fit the plate, had a subtle sweetness and a hint of the crunch of barley. The cinnamon rolls are legendary from the old place and rightfully so — they are flaky and buttery rather than bready, and liberally spotted with big dark clusters of cinnamon and sugar and bits of walnut. In the breakfast sandwich the very good wheat and honey roll sort of overwhelmed the egg, cheese, and sausage.
The décor is quirky rather than Front Room elegant, and I wish you could peer out the windows (they are painted) from the comfortable booths — especially to check out the morning crowd at Sangillo’s across the street. The coffee is a touch weak, but the place is so pleasant you don’t mind much. The Good Egg is good breakfast. It is less like relativity or passionate love and more like the Bohr atom, or a reliable life partner. It’s not quite transcendent, but still deeply satisfying — and you can count on it.
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