Café Colette is my shit. From the outside garden (life goals, I want one) to the fish tacos, if you don’t go here, we cannot be friends. Or acquaintances. We just can’t be anything.
So one day, when the crew was in large and in charge mode, we opted for a dessert that included poached pear cast iron French toast with vanilla butter. May or may not change your life, or your pants size, or whatever.
I wish I could say that this donut inhalation happened on a separate occasion, even a different month, but that would make me a closet-eater. So yeah, we went to Devocion after, and one latte lead to another, and someone decided to get Dough donuts up in here and the rest is cellulite.
See the damage crew above. Say hello to Marcelle and Clarita. Hey!
Okay, last one before I switch back to kale. Baker & Co. is an underrated brunch sitch. When you have skinny friends with fat appetites that go for the Nutella French toast, you just stare at your egg white frittata, and then you go HAM at the French toast just because. Wash it down with three rounds of sangria so you could get your antioxidants in and then it’s as if you really just ate a big fruit salad.
If you ever need help justifying anything, holla.