Time for breakfast! My upstairs neighbor and I drive through Atlantic Station to Howell Mill Road and the West Egg Cafe. Now at its new location (a few doors down from the old one), it substitutes casual, minimalist elegance for its former kitschy charm. (Although the photo booth at the entrance does add a nice touch of the old 'kitsch.')
My neighbor K sees a former colleague sitting at the counter and goes over to say hello. I slip around to check the display case for baked goods -- cupcakes, croissants, and cookies, including the oatmeal cookies with butterscotch chips that are the stuff of dreams.
Many times in the old location we'd ask the server to steal two for us as soon as they came out of the oven, and we'd take them home, still warm. My look caresses the top cookie waiting for me behind the glass. Maybe after breakfast, my pretty...
I force myself to turn away and return to K, who has finished talking to the man and his friend at the counter.
We select the table with a good view of the room.
We open the menus, but in my case, why bother? I order the same thing every time--vegetable omelet (no cheese, I hate cheese) with skillet potatoes and a biscuit.
And, once again, it's delicious!
Afterwards, my plate is clean, and there is no room for a butterscotch oatmeal cookie. Leaving, I keep my eyes averted until I reach the exit, then, with a single wistful glance back over my shoulder at the baked goods, I go through the door without one.
Maybe next visit...
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