Soule Quintessential

I wasn’t sure it was the right place when we entered, but I was tired of walking. Out in front it feels like it’s your fault even if the plan was not to make a plan. I always walk a little faster than the pack, but four blocks deeper into the journey than I ever imagined I’d been overtaken. We were staring at a menu on a wall heavily favoring breakfast while the clock rolled up toward nine. There were five of us, and so we stumbled into Cafe Soule in loose agreement, because how tightly do five people agree on breakfast when it’s just past dinnertime? Tight enough.

The ten-dollar cocktails were authentic and the staff peaceable and easy. They seemed to know their stuff and played the roles of house entertainers in a less-than-awkward way. It was fitting for an 1830s mansion with a history as thick as the overpainted walls. You were in a home, eating dinner, and five minutes in one of the wait staff threw that chair on the bar and climbed into a classical guitar throne, adding Radiohead and Jeff Buckley to a room decorated in Toulouse Latrec. He even apologized for singing over the last one. Though completely unnecessary, it was a nice thing to do.
Soule Quintessential
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