Yes, Columbia’s delicious Polish food outlet serves breakfast! As pierogies are the restaurant’s normal lunch and dinner fare, so are crepes (and breakfast hot dogs!) their dawning offerings. George opted for sweet crepes, a blueberry one stimulating him to verbal outbursts; I am a savory diner at day’s opening, and chose spinach/feta and egg/bacon/cheese crepes. Also, audaciously, George drank from my currant juice before I had a sip myself.

We discussed what it might take to cause us to emigrate to Denmark, the deliciousness of Wodehouse novels and BARRY, and future dining options. The service was great, though, upon both being recognized by the owner, we were chided for not appearing on-site more often. She is correct in this judgment: we both give Cafe Poland a 10. (Also, moths flew out of George’s wallet as he picked up the check. He’s now recording whose turn it is on his calendar.)


George did not really give me a choice this time, as he is strangely obsessed with pecan pancakes. Nonetheless, I was happy to visit a restaurant I’ve patronized since it was on the other side of Providence, more frequently in the ’90s–my “Stretch” years, when The Blue Note booked great shows that required culinary reinforcement and discussion afterward. My friend enjoyed his damn pancakes; I got a full order of their “legendary” French toast, the cinnamon tint of which DID justify that adjective. Hoping George would forget it was my turn to buy, I brought Nicole (who also got the damn pancakes), but he actually paid attention to his calendar and forced me to pony up. Our eggs on the side weren’t over-medium–rather, over-uneasy–thus an 8.5-9 rating. Under discussion: George’s minority religion education program (he’s spiritually indefatigable); law enforcement (I’m excited about Geoff Jones’ ascension); “class / club killers,” a school phenomenon identified by our friend Jami Wade that Nicole reminded us about; and the risen-from-the-grave aspect of another restaurant’s employee.