The flavors were just right and the place has a great Motown soundtrack.
Because of this exceptional experience, I returned. This time, I got the usual coffee and OJ but this time the main course was something different:
The conditions have to be right for a floor pastry to be made. Some of them are as follows:
- Some jerk in front of you swoops in and steals the last chocolate pastry
- Mind reeling, you grab some giant fruit-filled pastry
- The giant fruit-filled pasty fits in the pastry envelope but doesn't leave room to fold the end over
- The cashier rings you up for a bear claw
- You receive your coffee without room for sugar
- You only have two arms but three breakfast items, so you have to put the pastry in your Chrome bag
- While trying to be a cool guy and put the pastry in your bag, it falls out of the pastry envelope, landing face-down on the floor under a table
But let's get you in on the ground floor of the floor pastry-eating experience.
The material of this particular item is akin to the particle board that comprised most of the furniture you had in college -- you attempt to cut it and get a few sizable bits but, in general, it crumbles all over the place.
In the end, the dirt people tracked in had a negligible effect on flavor.
Oh, and the fruit was blueberry.