I don’t care for trendy, I just want good. This stance runs rampant in our household where resistance to the unproven has a strong foothold.

Just ask our ward Milton.


Still, there’s no point downplaying anything about our first visit to the lauded and swamped farm-to-table Fable Kitchen.

Fable’s success – you feel it once you step across their threshold and a wave of bellowing hilarity hits you. This is 10:30 on a Sunday morning.

The first sign was the lineup trickling down a rain-soaked sidewalk on 4th.

Then you overhear a hostess telling a throng at the door how truly crazy it has been, and panic officially settles.

Suddenly, a towering man in a sea of mimosa-imbibed faces swooped in with a knowing smile, whisked us to a table in the back, and poured cups of delicious, strong coffee. Followed by mimosas.

Resistance began its steady decline.

What I got from their “boozey brunch” is that Fable Kitchen gets it. They know what it takes, how hard they have to work, to be as good as they are. They are indelibly good in all the things that matter: food, drink, staff, service.

The story behind the success, how it began, how it evolved, is best told here.


Farmer’s Muffin: better than what your mama used to make, dressed to the nines with black pepper jam, tomato jam – any jamming by Trevor Bird wins…best jam ever. Sausage patty and rosti are bananas.

farmers muffin

Behind preserving shelves and chicken wire, wine bottles sleep, farm and kitchen tools rustify, jamming jars wait…


…to be stuffed with scrambled eggs, creme fraiche and greens.


A lighting fixture out of three pitchforks on a wire – dial me a tradesman, this is captain fantastic.


More superlatives:

Best host: tall dude in a cowboy shirt with expert lineup handling. High-five for taking resos.

Best swag: everyone gets a cookie at the end of the meal and they are outrageous.

Best costume: the Portlandia plaid-shirts were truly coincidental, our server insisted, but what a perfect accent to their farm-fed mantra.