Staccato at the Fire House (Bend, OR)

Well, I'm posting on this juicy gem partly due to familial requests, and partly because I just ate there recently and it was damn good. Quite a find even. I almost feel like I just have to link to the menu to prove my point. With those fried gnocchi in pumpkin sauce...and pear-bruscetta...that pork shoulder in cab n' coffee...(drool)...boar ragout...and, oh, that elk ravioli with apple and blue cheese. What a good idea! Fruit and wild game are never a poor choice! Especially in combination as I have recently learned. The best part about eating upscale in the Pacific NW is all the use of local and wild ingredients. And they love that big game. Not surprisingly, so do I. This place has some other basics, not totally vegetarian friendly per se (yes, due to the increasing frequency of veg-head friends that I am maintaining, I have become more sensitive to the veggie side of high-scale menus. I mean, how hard is it to make a steak taste good? give me something with skill!: like cauliflower!), but the presence of the large, brick, pizza oven, displayed in both the douchiest and tackiest way I have ever seen (ie behind a large window in a giant, carved, painting frame) says one thing for sure: bring your kids! That is, of course, as long as you we're willing to spend $15-$25/brat-head. Then again, this is Bend, land of white, middle-class, retirees and vacationers who want nature with amenities. Hey, it's no crime. Staccato also boasts an entire page of West Coast wines, an act at which I will gladly tilt my imaginary porkpie hat. Oh, and best of all: an in-house pastry chef means delightful delectables to wash down the meaty meal. What more could you ask for?

Final Judgment: "City dining in a quiet Mountain town = surprisingly satisfying"

Boogaloos (San Francisco)

Set in the Mission District of San Francisco, Boogaloos is known for one thing: breakfast. That's right, this is the place to go if you're craving a big helping of eggs n' homefries. The house-smoked gravlox benedict (weekends only) is salty and delicious and highly recommended. Hearty helpings and a bevy of sauces (vegetarian gravy? how do you even do that?) make this a satisfying Sunday meal. But, to tell you the truth, I've only sampled half the menu. For some reason, the owners have decided to include a large section of gentrified Latin-based breakfast platters. It's true, there are a few Mexicans in the kitchen, but this middle-class derivation certainly isn't calling my name. Riddle me this: how can it be a convincing Central American breakfast without the side of farmer's cheese?! It's can't my friend, it can't. That's why, whenever I'm craving sweet plaintains and cream, eggs and pupusas, always with a side of queso granjero, I head down the road to Balompie and eat El Salvadorean. But, you could say that Boogaloos, clearly the American version of my more awesomely authentic option, is just living up to the Mission name and standard I suppose. And thus, they have included a most-probably popular, American-Latin breakfast alternative that includes beans and tortillas. Such is fate. Be prepared to be met by an all-white, hipster staff, laced with tattoos and sure to make any self-respecting bike messenger waking up at their casual f-buddy's pad on Guerrero after a night of drunken debauchery feel right at home. Oh wait, that's right; some people take taxis there. Sanctuary city for the rich (and the wannabes) is right. It's a good thing hangover hair is in I guess, because Sunday morning is bound to bring a gaggle of goofy yupsters crowding up the sidewalk. How do they even manage to pull themselves out of bed that early? Get there before 10 if you don't want to wait for half an hour. Although, I have been known to wait alongside the grungiest of them. There's just no other acceptable, upscale diner-style alternative within a five block radius! And, truth-be-told, I'm usually feeling pretty lazy on a brunch-going day. Such is city-living. One last thing: please tell me that that po-mo art on the walls is actually made by children and not by hipsters with delusions-of-grandeur! I can't even tell anymore.

Final Judgment: "Satisfying my need for a hearty, all-American Sunday brunch, complete with San Franciscan standards ie local ingredients, competitive coffee and all the douchiness you can handle."