The French Hen Cafe, Saint Paul, Minnesota
I especially love the weekends because the Payaso makes me breakfast as I watch mindless TV in my pajamas (read: I watch Food Network and try to figure out how I can get my own cooking show). We rarely go out for breakfast because he does such an exceptional job at his famous breakfast burritos, but for some reason, we decided to go out in the pouring rain. Now, we can be a little boring when it comes to picking a restaurant, because we are both creatures of habit, and the Payso is extremely agreeable, which usually works to my benefit, but in determining a breakfast spot, well, you can see…
Gringo: “Perkins?”
Payaso: “That sounds good.”
Gringo: “How about Granite City?”
Payaso: “You want to drive that far?” (keep in mind it’s less than 15 minutes from our house)
Gringo: “True, and it’s raining.”
**silence**
Gringo: “How about Taco Bell?”
**awkward silence**
Gringo: “I miss living in Berkeley and being so close to all the cafes. Can we walk somewhere?”
**30 minutes elapse**
Payaso: “It’s raining.”
Gringo: “Something from Yelp with good reviews and a California vibe?”
Payaso: “You betcha.” (the Payaso loves using the Minnesota slang he learned upon our arrival back in 2015)
Extremely. Agreeable. I check Yelp and find The French Hen Cafe in St. Paul. What sounds better than a French breakfast? Side bar: do we really know what a French breakfast is? The answer is a profound nope. Anyhow, we enter the address into Sally’s GPS (Sally’s my car, yo) and head out. The French Hen Cafe is in the Selby area of St. Paul (think old mansions, very little parking and lots of great people watching opportunities). To enter the cafe, you pass through their flower shop, which doubles as a holding area for patrons waiting on a table. The cafe is on the smaller side and holds approximately 50 people with a homey, cottage feel. We’re squeezed into our table and begin to look over the menu.
It’s 8:45 a.m. and we start with some cocktails (no judgment, people). I get the Hugo (prosecco, elder flower, fresh mint, lime and soda) and the Payaso gets the Hibiscus Spritz (hibiscus, prosecco, and ginger beer). I secretly wished I had ordered what the Payaso was drinking because it was fabulous. The Hugo did not disappoint, but golly, that hibiscus was delicus [sic], wait that sounds bad…delicious.
Next up were entrees. My inner gordo wanted to order one of everything and split it with the Payaso, but I knew that probably wasn’t a wise idea. You know that moment when you are trying to decide on what to eat and you take a look at the food choices of the people around you, and it doesn’t help decide matters? That was my very dilemma. The server returns and I order the Poutine and the Payaso orders the Creole Market Hash.
The Poutine
A glorious combination of Gruyere cheese, hash browns, sausage gravy and topped with two perfectly poached eggs. Now, just to be clear, the Gringo rarely, if ever, says “there’s too much cheese,” but I did comment to the Payaso that the cheese factor of the poutine was large and in charge. Breaking open the two poached eggs and letting the yolks combine with the gravy, cheese and hash browns delighted my inner nino gordo. But the real treat was the sausage gravy; perfectly creamy with just the right amount of well-seasoned sausage. Yum! A definite contender for a repeat order in the future.
Creole Market Hash
Roasted root vegetables. Andouille sausage. Poached eggs. Hollandaise sauce. Equals. Total perfection. Now here’s a hint, ask that the toast be replaced by their cheddar chive biscuits. Yep, cheddar and chive meet a biscuit and it’s the perfect vehicle to sop up the remaining hollandaise (and gravy from my poutine). Not that menu ordering is a competition for me and the Payaso, but if it were, he’d win hands down. His breakfast was the champion at our table. Absolutely, mouth watering and decadent. My stomach literally just growled thinking about it again.
We absolutely loved our breakfast date out and about on Selby. We can’t wait to go back and try their dinner menu. It not only satisfied our hunger, but we really felt like we were back on Shattuck in Berkeley eating at one of the locally owned cafes we miss so much.