Thou shalt eat a cinnamon roll.
Ooey, GOOEY. It's almost too sweet, but not enough to stop eating until I feel a slight stickiness in my veins and I start to regret my health decisions (YouTube Louis C.K. Cinnabon). This cinnamon roll from Urban Solace in North Park is more of a twisted blob than a perky bun, but the taste is spot-on. I don't mind the poor structure; I think these things were designed to be a buttery mess. The dough was moist, the cinnamon goop generously layered so that you don't dare suffer a bite of plain bread, and I wondered if I might find an angel floating atop the fluffy cloud of what tasted like a combination of cream cheese frosting and whipped cream.
I also tried a natural hangar steak benedict, but it fell way short of the bar set by the cinnamon roll. The poached egg was perfect and the banal fruit selection was eventfully ripe and sweet, but the hollandaise was bashful and the biscuits used in lieu of english muffins was a sad mistake, in my opinion. They were dense (as could be expected) and robbed the benedict of the great contrast that classically exists between a crunchy English muffin and an oozing, saucy egg. I understand wanting to be different, but with a plateful of soggy bottoms, no one wins.
Despite the lackluster main meal, I am definitely interested in returning to Urban Solace for breakfast. The Bluegrass Brunch on Sunday offers a charming patio filled with live musical talent, and the resulting atmosphere is effortlessly relaxing. Lazy Sunday.
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