Eating My Feelings: Ann Sather

Some feelings are best ingested first thing in the morning. The shame of watching your Snapchat story from the club. Regret from sending that late night text. Knowing that life is meaningless and whatever minor "successes" you may achieve in the eyes of your peers ultimately mean nothing and leave you empty because material goods have never brought long-term joy to mankind so then you start to reevaluate why you're even alive.

Lol, jk, I'm fine, thanks.

I SAID I'M FINE.

So breakfast, huh? Or brunch, as everyone under 35 calls it. Ann Sather. Let's do it.

SPOT: Ann Sather has a few locations, but the Belmont location is easily the best (and the original). The unassuming restaurant sits just yards from the Belmont red line stop, making it far too convenient for me to stuff myself on a regular basis.

Once inside, you’re greeted by a glass display case of various home-baked goods. Brownies, sweet muffins, breads, and of course, the pièce de résistance: cinnamon rolls. More on this later. Just before you're tempted to reach towards the case for a passionate embrace, you're seated.

The dining room is cramped. There can't be more than 18" of space between any two tables. At some point, the restaurant was expanded to the storefront next door and filled to an equally claustrophobic coziness. The walls are hand-painted in traditional Swedish art and what I guess are Swedish idioms as well as Ann's slogan, "Good food, good friends, and good conversation." There's no music to speak of, just the soft roar of conversation and forks on plates. The occasional “FUCK” erupts from the kitchen. I think it's just one guy, and I'm pretty sure it's the short guy with the slicked-back hair and faded tribal tattoo. Oh, and the skittering busboy who quietly sings Mighty Mouse to himself as he fills your water or wipes down tables.

"HERE I COME TO SAVE THE DAY."

Photo Source: Interwebs Does anyone know who Mighty Mouse is anymore?

*fills coffee. leaves*

VIBES: If you show up at 10am on a Saturday, then you're a fool, and you get what you deserve: an hour wait. But. If you get there even 15 minutes earlier, the same fuck-screaming host with lots of hair gel will tell you to sit "over there." This is one of my favorite parts of this place; the waitstaff has a very European-feel to them. Not overly friendly and sickly sweet, but polite-ish and attentive. I love that. I don't want to talk about my weekend or have you call me hun, just bring me dem cinnamon rolls ASAP. And they've got shit to do! I've never seen that restaurant not packed.

The menus double as placemats and napkins are paper. If you're looking for a quiet, chill, bougie brunch spot with bottomless mimosas, this is not the place for you. Seems like a good time to mention that it's BYOB, though I've never seen anyone bring in booze. I think the energy of the place pushes people to eat and leave, not sit around for four hours talking about nothing, which is lovely because that's my worst nightmare.

GRUB: If you know me at all (which you probably do because I'm pretty sure only my dad and my ex-boyfriend read this blog), then you could probably guess what I order at this place.

I get the Southern Decadence.

Freshly-baked biscuits. Topped with sausage gravy. With perfectly poached eggs.

It's everything a hungover sad person could want out of breakfast. Or even just a sad person. Or probably anyone. The biscuits are light and fluffy, perfectly cooked and piping hot. The gravy is thick and flavorful with a generous amount of sausage (giggity). The eggs are just eggs. But. Expertly poached each time.

I would argue that the best part of this place is that every entree comes with two sides. I usually go with the "hash browns", which I put in quotes because they're Swedish hash browns, which are boiled potatoes that are thrown into a skillet to brown slightly before being served. Don't get your hopes up for the traditional grated hash or home fries, cuz ur gunna be diss-appointed. Still good though… just different. Like a cross between a baked potato and a home fry.

But the real treasure here? The cinnamon rolls.

Photo Source: My shitty iPhone. Look at these glorious buns. Good lord.

Sweet, but not too sweet. Strong cinnamon flavor. Slathered in sweet, runny frosting. Made the night before in-house. Frosted right before they head to your table.

They're perfect.

I've searched the city far and wide for a better cinnamon roll, but truly nothing compares. You know how losers who are in love say, "they're my person"? That's how I feel about these rolls. They are my person.

****LIFE HACK - LIFE HACK - LIFE HACK****

YOU CAN GET CINNAMON ROLLS AS BOTH OF YOUR SIDES.

A WHOLE RAFT OF CINNAMON ROLLS. EAT YOUR FEELINGS FOR HOURS.

FUN SHIT: Cinnamon rolls. BYOB. Mighty Mouse.

FEELINGS INGESTED: You know that feeling when you wake up feeling great and you do a big morning stretch and let out a giant yawn and then, like the doors in The Shining, all of the embarrassing things you've ever done, the trauma you've endured, the weight of your life's choices come crashing into your brain and you stare at the ceiling as you slowly drown?

The cinnamon rolls help a little.

OVERALL: Sometimes a tourist-y place is tourist-y for a reason. Start your day with a giant bomb of delicious starches and sugars to feel a moment of joy FOR ONCE.

Please note that I am in no way a qualified food critic. I'm picky and boring and really like cheeseburgers. Take my opinions with several grains of sea salt.