The Pink Elephant

There are much better ways to start your day than a bouncer giving you a full patdown before you walk in to have breakfast somewhere, but that’s what you get at The Pink Elephant. This place is what would happen if a club promoter intentionally got his foot run over by a mail truck and then he used the damages to open a restaurant based on his favorite Jersey Shore highlight reel. There is absolutely nothing ironic about it and there are so many things going on here that should never happen in the same room as someone eating eggs. Like the warning the servers give to your table about how if ladies attempt to use the men’s restroom, they will be kicked out - during brunch. Or the people relentlessly hitting on you and your friends - while it’s still light out. Or the horribly planned out line/mosh pit leading to the mimosas while music blasts so loud that you can’t hear your own cries for help.

This is supposed to be brunch, and there is food, but for the most part it’s pretty much what you could expect from a community pool grill on the last day of summer after they run out of rocket pops. But you’re not really here to eat. Instead, you’re here to chug mimosas and make the most of your two-hour bottomless time limit while you dance to Fetty Wap and get pictures airdropped to your phone asking you to send nudes. If you really miss being 19, you could go to The Pink Elephant for a “good time.” Or you could just walk down the block and see if SFMoMA will still take your student ID.