POLITE AS F*CK
The Graphic Details of a Meal at 'Morning Glory'
Enter MG’s wild world of pink velour booths, pierced and personable servers, and orgasmic brunch options complemented by an exceptional playlist and an intoxicating air of eccentricity.
When Mark tells me we have to “go early” to get a table for brunch, I’m prepared. Living in LA, I’ve had my fair share of groggy Sunday mornings and long waits made bearable by the prospect of overpriced, poorly poached eggs over an avocado tartine. Honestly, I’m just grateful to see two old friends and eat out, so I’m oddly moved at the thought of standing in line with a host of hungry folks eager to do the same.
The music is the first thing I notice—even before we arrive at the base of the staircase leading up to the restaurant, my body starts moving to the playful bounce of Miguel’s “Banana Clip.” By the time we’re on the stairs, Berhana’s “Grey Luh” and Rihanna’s “Pour It Up” have followed. It dawns on me as I look down at the ever-growing line that we’re about to be admitted into brunch’s Garden of Eden. We’re seated to “Lady Marmalade,” and I’m convinced I’ve died and gone to heaven.
But let’s not mistake the holy otherworldliness of a place like Morning Glory with the polished arrogance that pervades the genre of fine dining. There’s an impish allure to Morning Glory—the pastel pink starburst structure with an all-following eye that governs the bar, the Moet & Chandon champagne vending machine that stands as an extravagant irony, the idiosyncratic blend of Tiki trimmings and velour 80s dining décor that somehow oozes 2021. As if the space wasn’t loud enough on its own, the staff’s outfits scream with personality.
Pinstriped Dickie overalls seem to be the dress code, but there’s nothing uniform about them. Some folks have cut them into shorts, others roll them to capri length. Underneath are flashes of neon-colored sports bras, pastel tank tops, and animal print hoodies. Each server, host, and hostess struts across the space with a refreshing balance of levity and purpose. They know their Technicolor nails, bunny ears and tail (it happened to be Easter), Go-Go boots, and tattoos are all part of the chaotic good that is Morning Glory.
It’s almost hard to remember that we’re here for food, but somewhere behind the bumping bass-line of “Best Friend” by Saweetie and Doja Cat I can hear my stomach grumble.