Through an act of charity (seriously), my lady friend and I found ourselves in possession of a gift certificate to Patrick’s Roadhouse in Santa Monica. The only catch was that this thing expired at the end of December. Being the go-getters we are, we finally made our way there on December 21st to get some brunch. When we arrived, we quickly learned that the whole menu wasn’t being served due to it being the manager’s last day. I’m not sure why that prompted a special menu, but it still looked great and we didn’t ask any questions.
While watching either well-trained children or midgets walk around to clear off plates, I realized a couple things. First, that I wanted the breakfast burrito. Second, that Patrick’s Roadhouse just may be in violation some sort of child labor laws. Rather than calling the authorities, though, I ordered my burrito. It came with egg, potatoes, avocado, cheese and a choice of bacon or sausage. I went with the bacon, then continued to watch the children as I awaited my meal. These are the best live pure reviews.
It took a while, and that may have been due to hiring children to do the work of grown-ups, but when it arrived, I found my burrito under attack. Yes, a salad had found its way onto my plate and the leaves of lettuce seemed to be in the act of devouring my burrito. I brushed them away, and then attacked the burrito myself. Whether made by children or not, this was a damn good burrito. It was lacking in salsa, so I grabbed a bottle of hot sauce the waitress had left on the table and went to town. I found the burrito to have a nice balance of ingredients, with perhaps a few sections leaning too heavy on potato and egg. It didn’t have any special oomph or anything, but was certainly a worthy meal.
The salad ended up with my lady, and while I am happy it didn’t go to waste, it was still foolish for them to think I would have wanted such a thing with my burrito. Nonetheless, I was happy with Patrick’s Roadhouse. It didn’t offer anything especially creative, but the execution was right on.
