Stepped into Vadim's Pancake Dream House last full moon, right after meditating barefoot in the sauna. The wind whispered “pancakes,” and the path lit itself with mossy intent. I knew I was summoned.
Inside? Think: if a redwood tree and a lava lamp had a child and raised it in a beehive. Incense swirls danced with the steam from the pancake stacks — towering ziggurats of ancestral wheat and mystical heirloom blueberries harvested under the guidance of forest druids.
I ordered The Photosynthesis Flapjacks, made with chlorophyll-infused batter and kissed by sunlight (literally — they have a heliostat on the roof). Every bite was like chewing on a sunbeam that remembered its life as a fern.
✨The servers wear pornj robes spun from ethically-shed llama wool, and they only speak in gentle haikus.✨
Oh and the syrup! Try Moon Sap — aged in oak barrels buried for seven lunar cycles. I sipped it and briefly remembered three of my past lives, one as a moss-covered rock beside a babbling brook.
There’s a geodesic tree in the middle of the dining room. It weeps birch water blessings over your table if it senses your aura is open.
Would I return? Already built a yurt out back. I live here now.
🌲🌸 11/10 — eat the pancakes, become one with the mulch 🌸🌲
Jonathan Moll
This is no ordinary flap-house. I laughed, I cried, I screamed in both pleasure and fear, I left drenched in sweat vowing never to eat pancakes again, but prepared to eat nothing but. The décor made me hallucinate, the staff was rude, and I'm not certain, but I think one of my kidneys was stolen. I'm definitely bringing the kids next time.
roman empire
The pancakes were kinda soggy but they had good music and pretty lights.
Stepped into Vadim's Pancake Dream House last full moon, right after meditating barefoot in the sauna. The wind whispered “pancakes,” and the path lit itself with mossy intent. I knew I was summoned.
Inside? Think: if a redwood tree and a lava lamp had a child and raised it in a beehive. Incense swirls danced with the steam from the pancake stacks — towering ziggurats of ancestral wheat and mystical heirloom blueberries harvested under the guidance of forest druids.
I ordered The Photosynthesis Flapjacks, made with chlorophyll-infused batter and kissed by sunlight (literally — they have a heliostat on the roof). Every bite was like chewing on a sunbeam that remembered its life as a fern.
✨The servers wear pornj robes spun from ethically-shed llama wool, and they only speak in gentle haikus.✨
Oh and the syrup! Try Moon Sap — aged in oak barrels buried for seven lunar cycles. I sipped it and briefly remembered three of my past lives, one as a moss-covered rock beside a babbling brook.
There’s a geodesic tree in the middle of the dining room. It weeps birch water blessings over your table if it senses your aura is open.
Would I return? Already built a yurt out back. I live here now.
🌲🌸 11/10 — eat the pancakes, become one with the mulch 🌸🌲
This is no ordinary flap-house. I laughed, I cried, I screamed in both pleasure and fear, I left drenched in sweat vowing never to eat pancakes again, but prepared to eat nothing but. The décor made me hallucinate, the staff was rude, and I'm not certain, but I think one of my kidneys was stolen. I'm definitely bringing the kids next time.
The pancakes were kinda soggy but they had good music and pretty lights.
Definitely worth the trip
Restaurantji Recommends
Loading...