Photo credit: A.W. Rigsby
Apothecary: The Saint Social Club, 1416 E. Olive Way, 323-9922. CAPITOL HILL.
Time of entry: 11 a.m.-ish (it’s a Saturday, no clock checking allowed.)
Level of hangover: The Black Butte Porters I downed the night before were burned off at the gym that morning. Normally I’m not a get-up-and-treadmill kind of girl, but a pending trip to the mountains has me in training mode. And I knew that the minute I drank anything -- specifically the tequila Mary I’d been looking forward to -- I'd spend the rest of the day lounging around watching HBO on DVD. So the hangover was mostly gone but in my post-beer, early-morning-workout famine state, I wasn’t exactly three sheets to the proverbial wind, either. My breakfasting companion, Andy, graciously carried the hangover mantle for both of us, since someone needed to test out the booze-soaking ability of the food. On a scale of 1 - 10, we scored a comprehensive 7.Level of waitstaff hangover: Our waiter arrived in a flurry of hair gel and cologne. I tend to associate overdoing the grooming on Saturday morning with covering for too much booze the night before, but he was also really chipper. Our coffee and water were well attended. Still, it took for-eh-ver to place our food order. With only two other tables breakfasting, methinks the delay belies a bit of poorly-firing synapses. I’m guessing a 3 for him.
Prescriptions: Two mugs of coffee, and keep it comin’ please. Huevos rancheros and fresh-squeezed grapefruit juice for the hangover, and chilaquiles verdes and a Maria for the famished.
Hair of the dog: Tequila for breakfast. Here that’s the Maria, the Saint’s version of a Bloody Mary. It just seems wrong to wash huevos and chile down with vodka. A south-of-the-border meal demands an agave-based liquor, splashed with tomatoes and spices. Done and drunk.
Success of the soak: The featured menu item at this little blue bistro, a former wing joint, is tequila, tequila, tequila. That makes the Saint more night-spot than breakfast nook, which is too bad because they don’t skimp on the morning eats during the weekend brunch. There are a few things they need to get a handle on: “over easy” means runny yolk, and put ice in the water carafe -- no one working off a rough night wants lukewarm hydration. But everything was fresh, the Vita coffee a comforting welcome to the day, and the portions huge. I settled lazily down from my endorphin-induced chattering while Andy eased back into the land of the living. What we needed was a little equilibrium, and the Saint’s weekend brunch obliged -- with tequila.