I ... I hate you.
As one of the most renowned streets in the best city in the greatest state in one of the top 50 countries in the most inhabitable planet that I’m personally aware of, Brady Street has a little something for everyone.
Lovers of decadent hot dogs, shitty taverns that refuse to adhere to the state’s workplace smoking ordinance, homeless people, and juggling emporiums with rhyming names alike can bide their time in this wonderful 9-block Milwaukee oasis. But fatass drunk assholes with an outside interest in unicycle purchase such as myself aren’t the only ones who can get something from Brady Street. Dirty hippies, too, can imbibe in this Eastside jewel on Milwaukee’s shimmering crown.
At least two (maybe more, but I don’t have time to really think about it) Brady Street cafes cater to lovers of caffeine and laid back atmosphere. One of them, Roshambo, sucks babydicks — not so much their fault, but once, some annoying assfart named “Bix” flapped his stupid face forever while I was trying to play Scrabble like a year ago and I never went back. The other is called “Brewed” and it’s pretty OK in my book.
Brewed is a lot like most non-chain coffee shops in this big, round and unforgiving blue ball we call a planet. A menagerie of wobbly tables and mismatched chairs are crammed in the too-small space. Local art and fliers are tacked to the walls. There are weird nooks and raised areas, hinting that it–the lower level of an old house–probably shouldn’t be legally permitted to exist. And, of course, their are hippies and hipsters and old persons of varying hip health stationed throughout the cafe, pontificating hipply. But that’s fine. Overall, coffee shops are alright. In fact, when I was in high school, I used to hang out all the time at a coffee shop in Neenah that was a lot like Brewed called The Blue Moon. That was also when I planned to wait until marriage before boning anyone. Overall, I was pretty lame, but had the best intentions.
But one thing that The Blue Moon never had that Brewed does is amazing food (and the absence of spider webs/being a front for drug dealing). Included on the tiny cafe’s surprisingly sizable menu are flatbread pizzas ranging between $6.29 and $7.59 — six in all. 400 words since I started this, I’ll now get to the part where I talk about one I had, The Mexican Garden.
THE GOOD: Unlike the traditional “Mexican Garden” (a woman of Latin descent who has a huge bush), this Mexican Garden seem immediately appetizing to me. Have you ever drooled on your boner while shitting yourself based solely on something you were reading? Beyond a specific passage about the knuckleball in “Ball Four” — DON’T JUDGE ME!!! (cries) — this is the only time I can personally remember doing so. Read for yourself…
“A flatbread crust covered with our own black bean spread, cheddar cheese, onion, black olive, jalapeno and our own homemade kitchen salsa.”
The ‘za itself did not fail to mirror the text in its erotic beauty. It was outstanding, lead brilliantly by the generous smattering of black bean spread. The salsa was rich in organic and locally-grown ingredients. And the bitter cheese was countered with the slight zip of jalapeno. It was the perfect melding of components to forge a flawless product… the Mr. 3000 of flatbread pizzas. Oh God. I need to go back.
THE BAD: Being the pathetic creature I am, I tend to be sad when something great is about to end — the abrupt conclusion of Caddy Shack, the moment before my sexual partner’s eighth and final orgasm of our torrid fuck sesh, and the final bites of this pizza. I began the pizza unwilling to acknowledge its eventual end. This loss is the way I imagine a parent feels when giving birth to a severely premature baby. Only worse.
Also, for $6.99, the portions — even when factoring the fact that they’re organic — were a tad light.
TRY: Not hearing a Modest Mouse song in your time there. It’ll be tough to pull off, but you’ll be glad you did. Also, try a flatbread pizza. Duh.
RATING: I got one hand in my pocket (squeezing off while thinking about the pizza I just wrote about) and the other one is givin’ a peace sign. Timely!
