I wasn’t emotionally prepared for all of that snow. But if you spent any time outside in the afternoon, it was about as gorgeous and spring-like as a snow day could possibly be.
Cute W was working late (and then driving from up north, through the snow) last night, so we slept in a bit as we heard about the 2-hour delay and then the school cancellation. The girls played outside happily. Eventually, I became overcome with cabin fever, and I managed to convince the family that we should take a walk to a restaurant for a late lunch.
Our first lunch mention was Subway, but then I thought, hey, let’s try Union Cafe, a just-about-a-year-old local restaurant that we still hadn’t patronized. M was irritated because she wanted Subway. She huffed and puffed and said she wasn’t going. Cute W said, “You don’t have to go–I hope you find something good to eat for lunch.” M tried to recruit J to say home and–I quote, here–“have a party with your sister.” We said that we’d love to have J, we’d love to have both of them, but we could also have a delightful lunch date if they decided to stay home, and, you know, eat dry spaghetti sticks or whatever for their “party.” J was with us, and M’s resistance crumbled.
I thought that my children, at 8 and 10, were clever enough to understand that a walk on a snow day should involve snow boots, but I was wrong. Actually, little J somehow missed the plan entirely and thought that we’d be driving. And I should have noticed that their footwear was inappropriate (M in sneakers, J in cute-but-not-entirely-functional boots). But they got a head start and by the time I noticed, we were a block from home. No one wanted to turn around. Then, after another block, J was miserable because her boots were leaking. I was beginning to regret the whole venture.
Luckily, we made it just fine, and once J realized that the restaurant wasn’t a million miles away and M had enjoyed throwing snowballs at Cute W in spite of herself, everyone perked up. J sat down in the booth and promptly slipped off her boots under the table and I just didn’t say a thing. They’d exhausted me into silence.
And then everything looked up, because it was tasty.
M ordered a bacon cheeseburger and was psyched: “That’s two delicious meats in one dish!” she crowed. I don’t think that she will ever be a vegetarian.
M ate, pronounced her burger delicious, ate some more, and then began to groan in mock pain. When she couldn’t eat another bite, the rest of the family fell on her fries like a flock of seagulls.
J, after considerable pondering, decided to go with a short stack of pancakes (at 2 pm) and a side of bacon.
Cute W and I each went for Greek items. He had a Gyro, which he liked, and I had the special, spinach pie and a side of Greek salad. Mine was all good, and I even got M to taste the spinach pie, which she pronounced, “Not as bad as I expected.” Ah, high praise indeed. For all of these dishes I sort of messed up the presentation in the photos because I did what I usually do, which is get the food and start eating and then say, “Hey, I should have taken a picture!” and then everyone has to stop and wait for me. This is a source of irritation for everyone, but then we get invited to review something awesome and I am forgiven again.
It was all tasty, although even I couldn’t manage to eat that huge slab of feta. Oh! And soup came with mine, which was a yummy New England Clam Chowder.
As Cute W paid the bill and we were putting on our coats, J said, “I wish we could have gotten dessert here.” We hadn’t ordered dessert because the plan was to go home and make some snow ice cream, but as J was lamenting her sad lack of immediate deliciousness, our waitress approached and offered each of the girls a chocolate chip cookie on the house. Yes, please. J said, “You made my wish came true!”
All in all, I would totally go there again, and you know that I’m not a diner/basic American restaurant person, so that’s saying something. Union Cafe is open for breakfast and lunch, and it’s on Upper Union Street.