Brunch at MezzaLuna Bakery and Bistro

When: Sunday afternoon.

Level of Hangover: Under normal circumstances I would have needed a couple more mimosas to even get out of bed before noon on Sunday, but on this occasion there was something foreign floating in the sky.

The Soak: The sun made a cameo in the B-movie grotesqueness that is Seattle weather, and there was little I could do to keep from rejoicing. We cozied up next to a window at Central District's Mezzaluna Bistro, and absorbed as much UVA and UVB as possible.

The restaurant, near Judkins Park, couldn't have been easier to miss, and the white walls were barely dressed up with painted murals of coffee cups and the sort. A functioning counter acts as a place for to-go items along with espresso. A flat screen worked as a moving scrapbook of the staff and the restaurant's popular patrons.

Because nothing rounds out a great brunch like eggs, I decided the Derby scramble had my name written all over it. (ed. note: How'd the cooks spell it out?) (While I'm on the subject of names, there's an Obamalet with ham, avocado, and cream cheese.) I never figured out why they named my scramble the Derby; with feta cheese and green onions it tasted more like something I'd get in Greece than in Kentucky.

My plus-one chose to take on the potato pancakes. The menu touted them as "A favorite in Germany!" and even I was intrigued. A mix of shredded potatoes, green onions, and sweet onions was pan-fried to a golden crisp, but oiliness spoiled what could have been a phenomenal dish.

Success of the Soak: I think not being able to breathe is a success, but I suppose that means I have a problem.