Grand Cafe ***3.5/5

Oh, you Grand Cafe, you. You are quite possibly the cutest freaking neighborhood joint in S. Minne. Maybe in the whole Minne. You've been a staple estab. for as long as I can remember and it's a damn shame it's taken me this long to review. But we're here now. Let's chat, shall we?

Once you scan anxiously over the sidewalk patio and realize it's slammed full, enter the gilded door of the charming Grand Cafe. The Grand is just simple, understated, authentic goodness through and through. Tin ceilings, a bit of decay and a sort of barren-yet-warm aesthetic welcomes your low-brow/high-brow fringe.

We came today because my ladies needed sustenance before some aggressive pool lounging. We were able to grab a table right away and dive into some mimosas and bellinis. (No booze, yo. Whaddya do?)

The menu is pretty classic: omelet, basic eggs, b & g, huevos, benny, pizza, french toast, pancakes. The end. Oh, and granola, but who the f eats that for weekend brunch? Oh, and salad...and hell yes we be gettin' salad for brunch.

A beautiful house salad with an amazing vinagrette.

And here's half a benny. I wish I would have gotten the whole. Portions are not huge here. And not super cheap.

The B & G. It's a chunky, smoky, red-eye gravy. If you like that, then you like this.

And the most coveted dish here: the crock. The crack. Or as the Grand calls it: Eggs en Cocoette. Poached eggs, puff pastry, ham, Gruyere, and muther effin' truffle cream. Dreams do come true.

If you've never tried the Grand, shame on you. It's worth the overpriced everything, if only to bury your face in a crock full of love. Do it for your country.

LL wants his hat back.

The back patio garden. I can't even...

Modern Times ****4.5/5 stars

People have been raving about Modern Times since, well, the beginning of its time. You'll find it on all the "top" brunch lists and can read a myriad of glowing recommendations on the Yelps and the Googles. The first time I tried to go to MT was several years ago. It was a crisp Saturday morning in late winter and we were jonsing for some good eggs. MT popped up on the web search and we eagerly jumped in the car. We arrived, darted through the cold, flung open the door and were met with a wall of odor so intense I had to take a step back. In my fight-or-flight state, I glanced around to survey the scene and all I remember was dreads and dirty fingernails, trench coats, a cement floor and some picnic table style seating. And that SMELL. Like sweat and dirty underwear and a bunch of other gross unmentionable things simmered in a crock pot all day. I seriously thought I had wandered into a crack house. ***Let me just add a disclaimer here. I have eaten in some major dives and am not opposed to a moderation of dinge, but this was just an epic level of funk. We walked out the door and never looked back.

Eve and Nell holding it together

Since that fated day, Modern Times continues to be on all the "best of" lists. It is known to be somewhat grungy and punky, but nothing described like the scene I had witnessed. Four score and several years later, I finally got some resolution.

Due to its popularity, the line was already out the door at 10am. We got our names on the list and pulled up a curb to nurse our post-Caroline-Smith-box-rosé-binge. Thirty minutes later, we were lucky enough to grab one of the coveted sidewalk tables.

Check this adorable hand-written menu situation. The special was barbacoa hash and a nettle scramble. The ingredients here are like nowhere else in town. Super creative, fresh and great options for veggie's, vegans and meat lovers. The only reason MT doesn't get five stars is because they don't server alcohol. Sorry, but not sorry. Brunch cocktails are mandatory in my life.

The OJ is fresh squeezed, of course.

So here's the Good Morning Healing Earth. STFU, right? Two eggs with a ton of sauteed veggies, including beets and kale bathed in tahini with a side of tortilla. So incredibly delicious and nutritious. I'm considering growing out my armpit hair.

The barbacoa was stupid good. Hashbrowns, eggs, avocado, pico radness. All locally and humanely raised meats. Hell yes.

And here's the nettle scramble with bacon and ricotta. Weren't you just thinking, "G-damn, I need more nettles in my life"?

The inside of MT was not at all the shelter vibe I remember. Bright and colorful and FULL of shiny, happy people. No highly detectable body odor.

Maybe it's because my first experience was so jarring, but the reality of this place is that it's freaking incredible. There's nothing like it in town and I can say I absolutely, 100 percent agree with all of the fanfare. Modern Times is the best. Get with it.

This unisexy bathroom was a trip.

So proud of this south side gem.

Ride here and lock up to an old car door, yo.

Third Bird ****4/5 stars

The best thing you can do after you leave a Spin class at the Firm early because your legs stopped working is to remove your sweat-ridden bra, slick back your sweaty mane and limp over to Loring Park. The best thing about brunching is no one cares what the hell you look like in the morning. Follow me down the cobbled alley to the back door entrance of Third Bird, where the riff raff embark. Don't worry, the rape rating on this alley is a safe 1/5 stars.

This is not the first bird, or the second, but the third. The third bird wears short pants and a monocle, has some obtrusive chin pubes and apparently lies like a mf'r. I tried using protrusive in that sentence. Protrusive is not a word. Why isn't protrusive a word? Let's make this happen.

I'm a sucker for high ceilings.

The menu. More birds with person heads. Creepy, but it kinda makes me feel scholarly, well read, like I hang out in places where people talk about important things...without a bra. This place reminds me of my Art History Prof who made up words all the time. Like effectivality. Or protrusive. Or Byzantine. Unlike that dude, this menu is legit. Many staples exist, like the classic, french toast, a scramble, an omelette, but all have special ingredients like kimchi, kale and pork belly. Then there's straight up pumpkin pie. Who doesn't want pumpkin pie for breakfast? **NOTE: the menu has evolved since this review and no longer features pumpkin pie. If you love something, let it go.

Check out the hook while the menu revolves based on seasonality.

Here's your basic breakfast bevvies. The bloody. It's really decent. I know what you're thinking. You want a bigger pickle. So do I, friend, so do I.

The big letters on the menu spell AVOCADO. And this is what that looks like... Avocado smeared on toast, really great toast, two eggs and a salad with some dressing, really great dressing. A perfect post-workout dish.

Meet the classic with an adorable house-made biscuit and some crisp-ass bacon and some crispy-on-the-outside, mashy-on-the-inside hashbrowns. What a joy.

The benny this day said it was made with squash, but it just came with squash spears on the side. Not stoked on the lack of creative integration, but the flavor was on point.

Hello, meat.

You could take your mom here, but beware of the classy broads like me rolling in through the back in sweaty workout clothes. Sockless, braless, shameless.

This has been another edition of the Bad Eggs Brunch Review. Goodnight and have a kick-ass brunch tomorrow (at Third Bird) (if it's Saturday or Sunday).

The sunny front side.

Urban Eatery ***3/5 stars

Chances are, you've never even heard of this place. When my girl, Bernadette, suggested it for a ladies-only V-day brunch, I had to look it up. The first floor restaurant of the prestigious Mpls Beach Club changes hands on a regular basis. I'll save you my theories on this, but let's just chalk it up to location.

Topiary, yo.

We had to park in the garage as valet was closed on Sunday...WHAT? I always smirk when the parking attendant rolls away in my rusty Y2K Jeep. Park that one next to the beamer, Joe. They validate, but only up to like one hour. If you want to get into it with your girls, it's gonna take time.

Our table.

The space is bright and open. Nice lighting and wood accents. Cozy booths. Quotes. Lots of quotes. Okay: If you're gonna put a quote on the wall, make it like one really good thought-provoking one. Or at least weird enough that no one knows quite what it means. Or maybe...just don't put quotes on your walls. Chances are, you're not gonna pull it off.

The menu has some great variety. I'm pleasantly surprised. We, of course, had to grab a bottle of bubbles to start the day, Lamarca being one of my favorites. Knowing that most joints over-do the OJ to bubs ratio, we ordered a large OJ, on the side. But siphoning it into the drinks was not so easy. The server, not usually attentive, noticed our struggle and replaced the glass with a carafe. One point for her.

"The most dangerous thing to eat is a wedding cake." - said no one interesting

My Mimosa and Me

Brunchitzier™ was a giant blueberry lemon pancake mostly lacking in blueberries and lemon. But it soothed the "I'm single and this day is just a rude reminder, so I'm going to replace sex with carbs" cravings.

Here's the bloody. It's good.

You're getting a wide review of the menu selections today, starting with a most excellent Steak and Eggs on a crispy nest of hashbrowns. My poached eggs were on the side.

Mexican hash. The tiny skillet gets me every time.

Garden omelette for you gluten-free veg heads.

Breakfast sandwich with fondue cheese for the carb heads. Rarrr.

Nicki got the classic experimental "control". The potatoes were special cheesy loaded things.

So... the UE. It's totally dece for a 3-hour bitch fest. Service was meh. Food was better than okay. I bet the view is great on a summer day. If you play your cards right and go with the low-carb breakfast, maybe some silver fox will invite you up to the pool deck for a post-brunch lounge, after which he will fall madly in love with you. Then you can spend your V-day anniversary here, gazing sympathetically at the sad singles in the back booth man-bashing and drowing themselves in prosecco. You've come so far, baby.

The Sheridan Room **2.5/5 Stars

The Sheridan Room has big shoes to fill, occupying the old Modern in Northeast. It's all good. Where there was nothing, there is now something, something that also serves breakfast, and that's cool.

First scan of the bar area reveals an old receiver, turntable and vinyl collection. There is some evidence of life here.

But, aside from the warm, waxy bar, the ambiance leaves me feeling uneasy. The dining area is stark. Sterile. All hard lines and hard wood. Church pews and cold bathroom tile. Mirrors that creepily reflect the barren walls. I prefer to pray to the brunch gods on an altar where my ass doesn't fall asleep after one drink.

Nothin' sterile about these broads.

Suprise! Menu here is real basic. Say that with a drawl, like rulllll.... basic. Basic doesn't necessarily mean bad. I wish all the fancy ass cocktail bars I frequent would get back to basics and stop putting 18 ingredients into a glass with a square ice cube that takes up 85% of the space and charging $25 for it. People don't need myriad options. They need to stumble in with one eye open and half a functioning brain, see "basic breakfast",  grunt and bow their heads into a glass of cheap champagne and OJ rimmed with Pop Rocks. Yes, I said Pop Rocks.

That's real OJ, fool.

In all honesty the food here is totally decent. My salmon scramble was light and fresh and flavorful. Them greens, tho!

The basic was basic, but not laden with grease. I eat enough brunch that my arteries welcome a "cleaner" option.

And Kelly said the frittata was jammin'.

So, what up, Sheridan? Seems like you are tryin' a bit too hard to not try too hard. So you laid down a bunch of tile, walled up some booths and put a stack of records on the wall. I get it. I ain't mad at it. (© N. Paglia, 2016) Just put on some Floyd and pour me another.

That glass block, though.