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I Want…

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Paul McCartney wants to hold your hand.

Nick Carter wants it that way.

Lady Gaga wants your lovin’ (p.s. she wants your revenge, too).

Victoria Beckham want to zig-a-zag ahh.

Natalie…wants to eat at Dahlia Lounge again.

As un-lyrical as that sounds, I am sure that I could sing about the Dahlia Lounge. Although I might not necessarily want to hold your hand and zig-a-zag ahh, I do want to eat Dahlia Lounge’s French toast, crab cakes, fresh jam, monkey bread, and bacon. It is an affirmed desire.

And I have some many ways to justify that desire too. Their walls are painted a beautiful red reminiscent of rococo artwork. They’ve got elegant landscape paintings on their walls. The atmosphere is quiet and sophisticated. The service is Michelin worthy. And their food needs no further description than to say that I am crazy about it. To begin to make you drool…

The Crab Cake

I apologize for the low quality picture, but my camera broke so I’m using my old Kodak EasyShare C330 whose quality is shown above. Yeah…not too good. But without that visual pleasure, you have the great opportunity of listening to another one of my raves. Don’t want that either? Fine. I’ll keep it short. The crab cake is only around 3″ in diameter, but it is pure crab=holy for a seafood lover=pure goodness for everyone.

My dad ordered this one, so when it came first, my sister and I both cautiously picked up her forks, looked at our dad, and, lightning-quick, we snuck tiny bites. At first it reminded me of halibut cheek. Have you ever had halibut cheek? Tastes so much like lobster. Wait, so that means that I should say that it reminded me of lobster…not halibut cheek. All this “likeness” confuses me.

Still, the crab cake was pretty amazing. It’s probably as much crab as you get out of those freakishly expensive crab legs anyways. Speaking of which, this cake is so expensive. And I’m talking about $18 for a 3″ diameter cake. I dig the cake, but I don’t dig the price tag.

Their French toast (pictured above) was recommended to me by a friend. At a modest price (compare to their other dishes) of $12, I would consider it a worthy investment. This isn’t the soggy bread with cinnamon and brown sugar they serve in elementary school. This also isn’t the overly sweet toast they have at Denny’s. This takes French toast to a whole new level. Crunchy, but warm and tender. It doesn’t rely on the cinnamon and the sugar to make it “French” toast. Something about the way the toast was actually made sets it apart from the rest. Mm mm. Comes with delicious syrup and a nice square of margarine.

And 4 slices of the best bacon ever! Have you ever had bacon that defied convention? This is what this bacon was. Pure goodness. Yes, it’s crispy. But it’s also chewy and thicker. The meat actually tastes like meat (isn’t that something?)

This was my sister’s omelette. A brief description: the omelette takes your average egg, but fills it with shitake-like mushrooms, and then gives you a warm, buttery biscuit, and some of the best fried potatoes ever. Did I ever tell you that I’m a potato freak? I love potatos. I love them mashed, grilled, stewed, curried, baked, and fried. These are my favorite fried potatos ever. The edge of each little potato felt like a French fry, but in the middle, the potato just came out in small, soft chunks, which I promptly placed in my mouth before my sister could say, “Hey! You stole my potato!”

I remember how one of my friends G– and I used to joke about the pronunciation of potato. So instead of how we say it (puh-tay-toe), we would grumble, “puh-taw-toe” and chuckle to each other.

I am sticking my tongue out in disgust at the above picture quality. But the picture content? Delish. It’s monkey bread, my friends! Yes that bread that you can pull apart to eat, lick the sugar off your fingers, and reach in for another chunk (forgetting your germaphobia for a few seconds of bliss). Their monkey bread wasn’t as impressive as the other dishes, but it’s a nice side for brunch.

Last, but not least, I feel obliged to introduce you to their homemade strawberry jam. It sure tasted homemade, and very fresh. My sister plopped huge blobs of it onto her biscuit. I took it to my advantage and smeared it on my French Toast. And, to our embarassment, we all dipped our fingers into it at the end just to finish it off. It was that good of a jam.

I feel no need to write conclusive, repetitive sentences about how good Dahlia Lounge is since I’m sure you’re already drooling and Google Mapping how to get to Dahlia Lounge from where you’re at.


About Natalie C.

A college graduate in molecular biology eagerly awaiting the commencement of my quest for the luxurious yet completely impractical hood that one receives at a Doctorate graduation ceremony.

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