Above the entrance is a stained glass motif of the classic American breakfast: two sunny-side-up eggs, three thick and smokey strips of bacon, a mug of (presumably) black coffee, and a single pancake with butter. An art-deco wooden decal hangs above the poster-riddled cork board by the stairway. A local artist’s wall hangings, depicting sleeping cats on fluffy clouds, expanded the restaurant’s homey atmosphere. 

The Little Grill is one of the few non-autobody related reasons to turn onto N. Main St. It isn’t easy to get a table in the mornings, and there’s not parking galore, but if you can parallel park or simply opt to dine in after the early-bird rush, it is quiet inside until lunchtime when the floodgates open again. 

Having risen between the hours of brunch and lunch, I sat along the back wall where a portrait of MLK Jr. gazed over my head, positioned over the patrons like a guardian angel. 

On the shelf beside him was a tea kettle which made the perfect mismatched planter for the tradescantia and spider plants, whose green and trailing limbs further colored The Little Grill’s likeness to a country cottage, where any unfilled container is free real estate for kitchen greenery. 

First came black coffee in a slim, royal blue mug, and a plastic stein of icy water. Then came the question of how to break my eight-hour fast. Pancakes or french toast? Eggs or a biscuit with mushroom gravy? A breakfast burrito or huevos rancheros? Their list of sides is extensive; why not go a la carte all the way? I scanned the menu further: the seasonal pancakes were carrot-cake, drizzled with cream cheese icing — a quirky twist on an easter cake. The seasonal vegetables were less exciting: butternut squash, mixed greens, and parsnips. Winter stock. 

By my second coffee ($2.45) refill I opted for the Potato Boat ($8.48) with an added overeasy egg ($1.34), as always. It arrived steaming in a kayak-shaped porcelain dish, topped with an artful glob of sour cream and a chive-topped over easy egg. The yolk was bright yellow, perfectly trapped in its membrane, nearly slipping out from the white. The promised seasonal vegetables were the first in the bowl, the mixed greens unpleasantly wilted along the soft, baked sweet potatoes and crunchy parsnips. 

The parsnips, which I had never tried before, turned out to be my favorite aspect of the dish. They were golden brown on the outside, starting to blacken at the edges, adding sweet substance to the root vegetables and gouda. The crispy spiced potatoes were less than crispy and generally lacking in spice, but their fluffy insides absorbed the yolk and sour cream well. 

Despite the presentation, it was not until draping on enough salsa picante, which stood to my rescue on the table, that I found the dish more to my liking. 

This experience isn’t abnormal. Though their pancakes in the past have been excellent paired with butter and maple syrup, their vegetarian and vegan selections are lacking. It isn’t that they aren’t trying: a majority of the menu is vegetarian or vegan, but the dishes lack flavor, and it isn’t just because they contain tofu. 

Junior Gwen Mallow cooks with tofu often, simply compensating for the absent umami with spices and herbs. Expecting something flavorful from the menu’s alluring descriptions, she was disappointed by her last visit. “I was absolutely jazzed to try a vegan breakfast, but … I got the vegan scrambler,” She shared in the minutes before our upcoming class. I nodded emphatically. I’ve been there. 

“‘Scramble’ is a loose term,” She went on, “It was roughly chopped tofu with a dash of turmeric to mimic the yellow of egg … On top of the disappointment from the tofu chunks, the “sausage” was just … gross … The whole experience just left something to be desired and could probably have been improved with some deliberate effort.” 

Deliberate effort could look like potatoes crisping a bit longer or making the decision not to heap cheesy potatoes atop mixed greens. Why were the greens even included? What does bitter, wilted mesclun contribute to any dish? 

While The Little Grill makes strides in sustainability, sourcing as much as 55.4% of their food from local vendors, their quirky decor and environmentally conscious actions don’t spice the vegan scrambler. Although, neither does The Little Grill. 

I love the place and don’t intend to take it off my list of go-to brunch spots. The free trade coffee may be lovely, and I’m dying for that seasonal pancake, but vegetarians and vegans: beware.