Lyndale Taphouse ***3/5 stars

Okay, so. The Lyndale Taphouse is rather infamous for being a bit of a, how do I say this tenderly, Doucheville. Sadly, the thought of having to endure the clientele keeps us from coming around here too often. However, brunch is usually safe, and this morning we were on our way to Vegas, land of all things enhanced and bedazzled. I really couldn't think of a more perfect location to sword the cork off the bottle and bid ourselves bon voyage.

The menu here is pretty substantial. Some classics, some international flair, but almost all of the dishes are infused with the house-cooked, slow-roasted meats. 

There's a big bar, with a full liquor license. Score. Dimly lit for those who want to get wasted and play hook-up at 11am. Or for those of us who were particularily groggy from over-soaking in a hot tub while drinking local whisky*. 

 

I actually really dig the atmosphere here. It's like being in a farm kitchen. A modernized, kinda slutty farm kitchen. With these great photo portraits of female farm workers...

Hey y'all, I'm gonna wrangle ya up some breakfast sausage...

So, guess what. The food here is really awesome. Really. Like, best breakfast burrito I've ever had in my life. I've tried other dishes that rocked, like the eggs benny and the cider french toast, but today we were all on the burrito train. AND brunch comes with a complimentary mimosa. Taphouse, you're a man in a satin shirt after my own heart.

As the bros would say, this joint is totally dece. Parking is a little sketch, but the lot in back is $1/hr. It's got plenty of room inside for your posse. If you enter after 5pm, remember to use extra hair gel and get ready for some Jager-bombed bro to puke on your shoes and then punch you in the face* for being in the way. Hey, at least you'll have a good story for your Facebook...

*Dramatization for effect. No one has ever puked on or punched me at Lyndale Taphouse. I could just see it happening...

*Don't let the guy at the liquor store con you into buying local-made Minnesota whisky. I hope I don't have to explain to you why this is a bad idea. Bros, go ahead. Puke and punch away.