A breakfast date with my little guy at Cafe Gaudi in West TownThursday, March 31, 2011
One of the benefits of working for a company based out of LA is that the workday tends to get to a later start. One of the negatives, then of course, is that work creeps into the evening/night/overnight. So I made the decision to enjoy my favorite little Chicagoan in the morning for a bit before the sun really rises in LA. Sometimes Eli and I go to breakfast just the two of us for a little early morning date. He insists on leaving the tip. But I never let him.
On Tuesday Eli and I took the short walk over to Café Gaudi on Ashland. The door/front step situation at the restaurant doesn't make it easy to travel alone with a stroller kid, but we made it happen. (Isn't it nuts that when you become a mom you find yourself a lot more capable?) We were the only people in the restaurant, which was a relief, because honestly, I never know how it's going to go. Eli used to be really amazing at restaurants, but the more mobile he gets, the more demanding he gets, which makes sense.
Eli and I play a bit at the table. I order him some fruit and myself some coffee. Triple caffeinated. Eli develops a maddening crush on the owner of the restaurant and they enjoy plenty of stolen glances across the aisle. I love when that happens because each sneaky smirk is then immediately followed by an awesome shoulder burrowing. Forced snuggle - I love it.
We love going to Gaudi as a family, because we like the food and we love the casual relaxed environment the owners have created. Eli loves it because there's usually a new toy there for him to check out.
Eli also was a fan of the food. He had a few tastes of omelet, and most of the fruit and toast. But, ugh, that toast. This kid loves to have a piece of bread in his hand. So much so that he got out of his chair with a fistful of it, crawled around on the floor of the restaurant, and then kept eating that squished up toast. ICK. And yes, this date was not for the germophobic. I let my kid crawl around the floor of a restaurant. And eat bread that was in his hand, which may have touched the floor.
Some may call it disgusting, I call it picking my battles.
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