Am I being a bit hyperbolic here? Yes. I know I shouldn't say it's the best in the world because I haven't yet been everywhere in the world. I shouldn't even say it's the best in Colorado because it's conceivable that there's some pancake wizard living up in the mountains somewhere, a hairy madman who has direct and serious conversations with God himself about the art of pancakin' and who serves his masterpieces only to the squirrels and lost hikers who wander too near his shack in the woods.
But those of you who regularly read my reviews know that I am fast to fall head-over-heels and shameless (if sometimes fickle) in my drippy affections, so until I find the mythic Flapjack Hermit or some other little hole-in-the-wall that tickles my pancake bone, I'm holding Toast up as my A-number-one and king of the breakfast rush -- my favorite among all the worldly contenders, at least for this week. To read the full review, come back to this site later today, or pick up the new issue of Westword. -- Jason Sheehan
