Working night shift can often make you feel like the following: zombie, vampire, troll, walking-dead, character from a Shakespearean tragedy….you get the picture. However, every so often this happens at about 0615:
|No, that is not the Lonely Mountain, that would be Mt. Hood|
Being on the opposite schedule from the rest of the world does have its benefits, and that view is one of them.
|The Mountain peak cast a shadow, which was pretty cool|
I drive home, hunger winning out over sleep on my personal Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs.
“Get up, I’m hungry.” I text my friend and fellow night-shifter. “I need sustenance!”
Open Scene: Le Petite Provence
It’s packed, we give our name to the hostess and I order coffee. Instead of playing the game of human sardines, we take a walk down the off-beat street of Alberta. A grab-bag of restaurants, shops, and residencies, Alberta St. has easily become one of my favorite places to wander in the pitter-pattering rains of Portland, OR. But let’s skip to the good part: food.
We are seated 30 minutes later in the balcony section of the restaurant and order.
I take a ‘lil looksie at the menu, though I know exactly what I want. Oats.
I have had many a delicious breakfast in my days, but this is definitely top 10. Bruleed Berry Oatmeal.
|This is what tired + hungry + exceedingly happy looks like|
Amanda ordered Banana French toast.
Pretty good, but come on……
Oh sweet grandma food of the gods!
|It did not survive.|
Who ate my oats??
We were full and happy. The end.