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B often has a jam packed schedule, even on the weekends. With work, school, study groups, tutoring and all of the additional this, that, the other thing life throws our way on the daily -- I sometimes fly solo.

B is my most favorite person to spend time with, so it often stinks to eat alone or have to decline enticing social invitations, or spend an afternoon wishing he could just be enjoying our city with me. But this time apart also has its benefits -- and I think it's appropriate to express a bit of gratitude for this gift here, instead of just focusing on the general negative.

Last Sunday, while the manslice was rushing here, there, everywhere, I had the sporadic idea to end my early morning errands (and rare occasion of having the car to myself) with a stop at Plow -- a gem of a brunch spot located exactly on the other side of town. I was giddy at coming up with this plan, and could feel a pep in my step the moment I walked out the front door to seize the brunch hour by the lemon ricotta pancake horns (the token dish of Plow, pictured above).

Pulling up to the restaurant, my heart sank. It was only 9:30am, and already the line/groups of folks waiting to get in was spilling out onto the street. Damn it!, I mumbled while parking, feeling my spirits deflate faster than a kids post-birthday balloon. This blows. But, a deep breath later, I decided to half skip up the hill with less worry and disappointment, and more contentment in the knowledge that it was a clear, sunny morning, and I had absolutely no where to rush off to. I had all the time this Sunday could offer, and no matter how long it took, I was getting those damn pancakes. Freedom, baby.

Apparently, a party of one is the best case scenario at Plow. I was instantly seated at the counter ahead of the larger parties, and once again that giddy joy at my mini me-date took hold. I looked around the bright space, taking in the heaping bowls of green avocados, and eggs perfectly perched in their open crates behind the glass. I watched as the team of skilled cooks crafted made-to-order sausage patties by hand, right next to the rows of mason jars filled with colorful spices, all lined up like a country-hipster salute to flavor.

The chefs were a cheerful, smiling group of young Hispanic men, moving and singing to the music. And oh, the music. 90's hip-hop into Beyonce, Lauryn Hill into Michael Jackson. I was in playlist heaven. My sweet waitress also went out of her way to compliment my bracelets (a mix of Alex and Ani, and a hand stamped birthday present purchased by B and made by my favorite lady, Tristan).

By the time my food arrived, I think I was actually buzzing.

And with a full belly, suddenly the idea of coming home to an empty apartment didn't seem so depressing. It seemed like the perfect excuse to rest, read, and guilt free whip out all of my old secret single/weirdo behaviors (we'll get into that another day). And when B finally did get home, I could enjoy his company more deeply from a self-nourished, refreshed, contented place. I could love up on that boy and help him unwind from his day...with a little help from the to-go pancakes, sausage and biscuits, of course.

See? Benefits.

love and light,

Trish