Mardi Gras, anyway

So, having finally managed to eat a meal at Local Harvest Cafe on Morgan Ford, I'm feeling a bit community-fuzzy.  In a good way, of course.  Valentine's Day, before noon, and the place was packed.  I turned to Mike and said, "so this is where all the young folks are hiding."  The clientele was all roughly our age and persuasion: 20-somethings, neatly yet indy-pendently dressed, some bearded, some bespectacled, lots of colorful scarves.  Conversations about Mardi Gras madness (avoiding it), and organic foods (seeking it out).  The tables were so densely packed that it was difficult not to join the conversations of diners sitting beside you.  So we did; join. 

 

"Did you do Mardi Gras?"
"I've never gone."
"I don't want to break the streak."

Even a well-timed, intelligent nod was welcomed.  The type of people I want to know; and in the continuing theatre of life, I know characters much like them on my own stage.  Somehow, I keep thinking, I have to make my way into this community.

Anyway, the menu was just as inviting.  The short brunch list included the meals Mike and I ordered: homemade veggie burger, and stuffed French toast.  The burger, I keep saying, was the best I've ever had.  A mash of black beans, and a soft vegetable cake, homemade mayo, lettuce: the works.  Savory, chewy, nourishing.  Mike's French toast made of local handcrafted brown bread layered with cream cheese, chopped nuts, and soaked in maple syrup.  The menu consisted of locally smoked meats, organic and locally grown vegetables, free range eggs and grass-fed dairy.  The walls, just as crowded with literature as the floor with diners.  What's local?  What's organic?  Who do we source from?

More on the Saint Louis locavore movement to come.
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