"I’ve eaten at Eggcetera numerous times. December 20th I took my grown children and wife for breakfast. I had a single pancake and eggs Benedict with house potatoes. It was all great!"

"Food was decent. I asked for crispy hash browns and they obliged! I appreciate that! I ordered the salmon eggs Benedict and it was ok. I think it would have been better with smoked salmon. My cup had a noticeable chip on the rim that I had to be careful to avoid. One of my girls ordered an iced coffee that didn't come out, when she inquired about it, they brought her a hot coffee. It was charged on the ticket but removed it when I requested. Everyone else enjoyed their food. An order of pancakes and French toast didn't come out until most of the rest of the food was eaten. Will try again to see if it was just an off day"

"The eggs Benedict was exactly what I wanted and the hashbrowns were crispy, which I like and rarely get! I decided to try their cold brew and was pleasantly surprised. Ask for a little heavy whipping cream instead of using the packaged creamer on the table! It was perfect. There was only one person waiting tables and it wasn't that busy, but it took a little too long to get our order in. Other than that, it was a very good experience. Nice atmosphere and quiet."

"The Benedict’s are delish and coffee is much better than I expected too. Staff are friendly and location is a vibe. Would be cool if they played hip hop music."

"The Taco Whispered, and He Was Right: By some cruel twist of fate, we ended up at this so-called brunch place—not a restaurant, mind you, but a “place where they make food,” which is, I suppose, technically true in the same way a toddler’s finger painting is technically art. From the moment the tacos arrived—limp, lukewarm, and clearly in the last stages of some kind of existential crisis—I knew we’d made a mistake. The tortillas, allegedly the backbone of the dish, disintegrated upon folding, like paper napkins soaked in regret. One friend, who typically eats like he’s afraid the food might escape, actually put his taco down, looked around the table, and said, with full conviction, “This is gross.” And he wasn’t wrong. It was, hands down, the flattest, most joyless chorizo taco I’ve ever encountered—like someone had taken all the flavor and replaced it with sadness. Halfway through, the taco spoke. Just a whisper, barely audible over the clink of cutlery. “You knew better,” the taco said. Not accusatory—just mad. Then it cracked in half and spilled its guts on the plate like a warning. He didn’t finish it. He didn’t even touch the second one. We just sat there, quietly judged by our own food. I’d been expecting something chic, maybe even artisanal—brunch with a personality. What I got was disappointment wrapped in a tortilla, and not even the salsa or sour cream could save it. You could practically hear our group morale collapsing. We’d gone in search of brunch and found a metaphor for all the bad decisions we’d made that week. This place felt like the kind of bad idea that comes to you mid-scroll on Pinterest after one too many Aperol spritzes. Someone clearly woke up and said, “I’m going to open a cute little restaurant—with neon signs, and tacos that cost $13 but felt emotionally distant.” They probably spent twenty minutes on YouTube, learned how to slice an avocado without losing a finger, and figured that was enough. It wasn’t. This wasn’t a restaurant. It was a cry for help with brunch hours. They need to close immediately. Not for renovations—for a reflection. Sit down, journal a little, and figure out what you're actually good at. Because it’s definitely not this. Even the hotdog stand a few blocks away, open on weekend nights under its flickering light, screams flavor. Their tamales and quesadillas—loaded with cheese, cheese, and more cheese—are bolder and more alive than anything on the entire Egg cetera menu. Somehow, that cracked-up roadside cart feels more honest. More deserving of your money."