Tipsy Parson, meet my dream brunch.
We almost missed the meal of a lifetime.
You see, they had had it.
We called from The Garage, and begged off our 10 a reservation for an 11.
We were still only on level one, and needed to take our time.
We clearly couldn’t leave there until our work was done.
Then, come 11, we are still clipping through level two.
So we sprinted, as fast as our sore, walked eight miles in the rain yesterday feet could carry us.
We were late.
Times two.
And – of COURSE – we were so busted. We each had giant mish mash cast off shopping bags the dealers had each filled with our purchases from The Garage.
Lucky for me, the picture perfect storybook window seat was open – and by golly I was going to beg and plead and pout my apologies until I got that very table.
Phew.
It worked.
Sitting pretty on Ninth in Chelsea, Tipsy Parson defies weekend brunch.
They just kill it.
We were sitting, staring, savoring, in awe.
Southern Ice Tea, to wash down warm Cheddar Corn Bread with Tomato Marmalade.
This was our starter.
