Tuesday, June 7, 2011

Foolish Craig's Cafe, Boulder

Couple of years ago, at a friends art opening, I stood enthralled in front of a watercolor of two ripe peaches, firm and slightly fuzzy like a virile young mans backside. Baby first met Johnny Castle while carrying a watermelon. Chocolate triggers the release of endorphins, the smell of cinnamon is said to make men froggy.

Food is damn sexy. Blogs like Food Porn Daily are dedicated to sloppy shots of the best we savor and swallow. I could go on about the patchouli charm and casual intimacy of Boulder’s Foolish Craig’s Café. How it warmed my cockles.

Like the afternoon cocktails (house bloody on the cheap – just $4 – and served with a hearty side salad of green olive, spicy pepperoncini, pickle, wedge of lime and lemon). Deep burgundy red. 

And the Saturday special, a belly warming Fried Chicken Benedict (breaded, juicy tenders over toasted English muffin and under salty white gravy). Next to the house potatoes, crunchy at first bite, giving way to soft inside. Richly caramelized in sweet paprika.

Or the smooth silky finish of the Duxelles Crepe (mushrooms, onions and shallots simmered down in butter with Swiss and Veloute sauce). Served with dreamy, creamy grits.

Yet I ache still for the cake.

The crepe cake.

Look at it. Love it.

Layer upon layer of house made crepe, each slathered in butter, sugar and rum. Over and over and over.

Getting higher.

Frosted in sweet cream cheese, a sprinkle of powdered sugar. Dense and light at the same time, a plunge and push of fork sideways into the tower squirts out warm, thick carmeley sauce.

Sigh.

Mama needs a minute alone.

3 comments:

The Housewife said...

Damn you woman!

Everything you review is so far from me!

And you make me wanna go..

Jodie Kash said...

Baby, worth the trip.

Allyson said...

Crepe cake is a brilliant idea.