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Bromance at the Bungalow, South Tampa
March 9, 2012
The word bungalow originated in India, or some other extraordinary country, and describes a type of house, with various meanings depending on what part of the world you’re in. Such houses are traditionally small and include common features such as being low-rise, with one and a “half” stories, and a nice front porch to watch your children play in the dirt, or street.
In Tampa, the word bungalow is used to describe a “house for ants,” with little closet space, a fireplace that will never be utilized due to the warm climate, and a detached garage where you put your elderly parents. I had always dreamed of owning one of these actual toy size Barbie dream houses in the South Tampa area, until I realized I was interested in raising in army. I truly believe the chances of having a child with red hair is based on numbers, or karma, and in the event that this occures in my life, I would like to be able to avoid them– a bungalow is just too small.
There is one bungalow in Tampa I love and it’s even better than a bungalow home because you don’t have to live in it. You don’t have to worry about putting a new roof on after dinner or polishing your 1921 authentic doorknobs after your fingerprints have smudged them. You come, you eat, you leave. And if you like it, you come back.
Another Sunday, just me and the boys, but this Sunday they’re straight. It’s man day and as Ryan’s lonely fiancé I am permitted to crash this date. Ever since one of my cats died a few weeks ago, being left home with the lone survivor is quite unpleasant. All he does is meow until his voice is gone as if his little brain really remembers his friend. I think it’s a scheme to get more food.
Anyway, Ryan’s two friends have joined us at the Bungalow and it’s time for this brunch o’ blokes. My latest addiction to MyFitnessPal.com has kept me from eating like a horse, but I caught a glimpse of the menu online prior to leaving the house, and Crab Hash: it’s on. Sure, fill me up with a bowl of home fries, over-easy eggs, crab meat, and hollandaise. Depending on where you are, just 1 tbsp of hollandaise can be 70 calories. And you know what? Worth every drop.
While we discuss mind erasing vitamins from the night before and Man Friend 1′s inability to tolerate them, a stray cat plants himself right next to my left leg. Why am I such a cat lady? I ignore it; after all we are in a restaurant and petting a stray cat prior to licking my fingers clean of hollandaise seems quite repulsive. I begin looking at this somewhat friendly cat and immediately think of my dead cat. So sad, really. She had kidney failure and while she died a bag of bones, I can ensure you she would have looked fantastic in a wedding dress. Lately I’ve been thinking about wearing my wedding dress like a hanger.
Clear the table, food’s here. My purse will have to go on the ground with Mr. Cat. My mountain of crab hash looks amazing. As does Ryan’s order of crab cake benedict. Man Friend 1 got a breakfast wrap and Man Friend 2 got a Cuban. Those also look mouth-watering.
Disappointment sets in. You typically can’t go wrong when you drench something in delicious hollandaise but there was a serious lack of crab meat. I had hoped it was playing hide and seek under the eggs, but nope, what a cruel and unusual punishment. One dollop of crab and a bunch of bland home fries. Since hollandaise was the best ingredient, I proceeded to mix up my entire bowl until every home fry was covered in its yellow glory.
Ryan’s disappointment was limited, as it only surrounded the lack of garnishes available at the Bloody Mary bar and the bland home fries. His crab cake benedict was amazing. In fact, one bite of his had me regretting my entire meal.
I didn’t have the appropriate table manners this past Sunday to ask our man friends how their brunch was, but judging by their empty plates and mimosa and Bloody Mary-induced smiles, I would say they had a lovely time.
I don’t want to rag on the Bungalow because I truly love them. Had I ordered the crab cake benedict I would have been one happy crab. But, live and learn. The crab hash sucks. If you pay the bungalow a visit for lunch- be sure to try meatball favorites: sweet potato fries, jerk chicken sandwich or the ultimate sex to your face: the Mojo Bowl.
Wasted my cheat today, back to the nuptial diet, otherwise known as starvation.