Chapter 13 – B.J. Hunnicutt

Uncle Wolfie's Breakfast Tavern – 234 E. Vine Street, Milwaukee

Not remotely a Mexican restaurant, but I'm still going with the wide swath—so I met Doug over here for brunch on Sunday morning—Brewer's Hill, at the top of the steps from the “Beerline” housing complex on the river. It's impossible to know what places will be full of brunch-yuppies—where is the hot place to go so you can be assured of having a 45 minute wait to get over your hangover before getting on with the pre-Packers day-drinking? This place qualifies, and it's fairly small—I don't know what was here before, likely a corner bar. It's a place where sidewalk dining actually makes sense, because it's not a busy car street, and there's a view of Milwaukee, and a view of View MKE, the restaurant across the street that was formerly Wolf Peach (not sure if there's restaurant incest going on up here on the hill). We got a small table in a corner, which helped me deal with the noise and chaos, and as much as I can do without music (other than the musical din of loud people), playing the whole Exile on Main St. record struck me as pleasing and unusual (and also not the kind of people-pleasing attempt at dining music that ends up pleasing no one). Also smart, is there's an adjoining lifestyle store, Orange and Blue Co. (it's “curated,” which means a human, not a bot, decides what's in the store) so you can look at and even smell enticing gift-y things while you wait (as opposed to trying to set the world record for shoving hungover 20-somethings in a phone-booth, like most brunch places). Besides a burrito, there was one more Mexican themed, and also gluten-free, menu item, thus my choice: “Pulled Pork Tostada.” Comforting and tasty, for sure, but the tostada, to me, (as a concept) is about as exciting as a rerun of MASH. As an experiment, I just made one, at home, with death's-door leftovers in the time it took me to think of something as boring as MASH. Tacos, as simple as they are, are difficult—you need to put the tortilla first, like a marriage you want to survive. With tostadas, the tortillas are treated like sex offenders. Also, sure I have had delicious black beans, but never when they're part of white people recipes where they may as well be impersonating dirt. I don't hate them; I just like all other beans better. And the over-easy egg—for having a menu with the biggest font-ed thing: “Put an egg on it”—you'd think somebody'd know how to cook an over easy egg (which is anything but easy, if you want the whites not runny but the bottom not leather). Also, one egg is like egg as an idea—it's barely food. I know it's more visually appealing, but are we here to Instagram or to eat? Two eggs make more sense, and then only if they're big and cooked right. I assume at a place like this the eggs come from chickens who are treated slightly better than office workers (they have heath insurance and get to leave the cubical occasionally). I'm being overly critical—really just happy to have a gluten-free, Mexican (if slightly) themed breakfast option that was yummy and didn't put me in a food-coma. Also, all the people working here made me feel like a loved human being, and finally, serving coffee in mismatched, not overly gigantic mugs is inspired. The server kept coming by and refilling them, and the coffee was better than any I've had lately at all these so-called hot-shit coffee shops that have, you know, more or less stomped out diners like they were cockroaches and replaced them with shit-pastries, bad acoustics, and ass-tasting coffee. Sorry, that's a tangent. Uncle Wolfie, you're first rate, in spite of that little bit creepy name!