Edmund's Update

Last Saturday I went to breakfast at Edmund's again. I presented my companion with two choices- Edmund's or the Soup Spoon, and I warned him that Edmund's had tiny annoying coffee cups and I would complain incessantly about it. He decided that we should go to the Soup Spoon. It was, however, completely packed, so we looped back down Michigan Avenue and went to Edmund's. Truth be told, I was looking forward to pancakes covered in crumbled Oreos and peanut butter. I love a good diabetic coma.

Imagine my elation when the server brought me coffee in a different cup. It's not a massive vat of coffee like I generally prefer, but they're on the right track. I was into it. The pancakes were still good and I could go for some of them right now. Bar prep requires a lot of fuel.

Habeas Dessert- Golden Harvest

After my last post, I realized that I never posted this article from my law school newspaper. It's from August, 2011. 

If you ever find yourself in Lansing early in the morning, hungry and looking for breakfast (and have

some time to kill), I’ve got the spot for you. Golden Harvest is a Lansing institution, nestled in the Old Town area on the north side of the city. Sandwiched into a residential neighborhood, the place is tiny, with seating for 35 people. The regulars are willing to wait outside in line for an hour before they even sit down.

That’s when the fun begins.

The walls of Golden Harvest are covered with, for lack of a better word, stuff. From old license plates to signs proclaiming “North Lansing Against the World” to their signature skull and cross fork-and knife, the place looks like a flea market exploded, in the best, most pleasantly kitsch-y kind of way.

If you’re lucky, you get to sit at a table. If you’re really lucky, you get to sit at the counter and watch your food being prepared. On my latest visit, I couldn’t resist the waffle with strawberries and Nutella. One of my dining companions had one of the breakfast specials- a sandwich of cheddar, bacon, egg, and avocado on a croissant. We split our dishes with each other and could barely squeeze in a few bites of our oatmeal with blueberries, strawberries, pecans, and grilled banana.

Don’t judge me. I went for a run later that day.

My other companion decided on the Half a Hungry Man. You’d better be a starving man, and a full-grown one at that, if you’re going to eat this meal. It was monstrous. The meal came with two eggs, a choice of meat, potatoes, toast, and one pancake. The pancake was, approximately, the weight of a Constitutional Law textbook. The heavy blue one--the one Schindler and Munroe use.

We had coffee, which I noticed was Lansing-roasted Paramount Coffee. Our dining soundtrack included songs from James Brown, M.I.A, and Prodigy, and our fellow diners included everyone from local attorneys to factory workers. The food was fresh, hot, and cooked to order right in front of us. For the money, the atmosphere, and the delicious food, you can’t beat Golden Harvest.

You can find them at 1625 N. Turner Street in Lansing. Golden Harvest is open from Monday to

Friday, 7am to 2:30pm, and Saturday and Sunday, 8am to 2:30pm. Get there early, and bring your cash, because otherwise you’ll be washing dishes.

Golden Harvest

On Friday mornings when I don't have to study, go to class, or do something else that exercises my mind and makes me a more successful person, I like to go to an early yoga class. If I could go to a yoga class every morning at 6, I would be a happy person. Assuming, of course, that I went to bed at 6pm. I don't play around with sleep.

A few weeks ago on one of my yoga Friday mornings, Mom wanted to go out to breakfast. She mentioned the magic words- Golden Harvest- and I knew that I wasn't going to make it into a downward dog. Golden Harvest is a Lansing institution, one of those places that everybody loves and drools over and where you don't want to take your out-of-town friends unless you're sure that they can handle it. More on that at a later date.

Our wait at GH was only about 20 minutes that day, which is nothing. Mommy Dearest got some special waffle with strawberries and vanilla bean, and I got the Elvis Waffle. Or it might be called the King. Something like that. You'll know it when you see it, because it's smothered in bananas, peanut butter, and chocolate.

I think of this waffle every morning as I stare into my bowl of Kashi, oatmeal, or nonfat plain Greek yogurt. I eagerly await the day that I waltz back into Golden Harvest, plop myself down, and start stuffing my face, Elvis-style.  

Paula Deen called. She wants her diabeetus back. It's delicious.