Sunday Kind of Love

Something is brewing between Gadsden. It’s hard not to rubberneck on certain mornings when the traffic is a little thicker, and you may glimpse a hungry line filling the parking lot.

Not just for weekends, Dear Sunday Cafe is changing the aura in Midtown. When I arrive for brunch on a Tuesday in the spring, the outdoor patio is filling out; dates, groups of friends, and solo breakfasters have a head start on their benedicts, waffles, and espresso martinis. To enter the flowery, shaded patio––the iconic space below the newly expanded Midtown Reader—one first must pass a container garden that populates the restaurant with mint, chives, and edible flowers. That little garden is like a signpost, a notification that you’ve just stepped into a more charming iteration of our world.

Photo by Pablo Gabes

I’m greeted by co-owner Courtney Atkins, who later beams over the greens. This is one of her projects, she explains. Around the restaurant, these individual projects are everywhere—like art installations on the walls, a curated color palette, and the compact coffee bar that also serves walk-ins. Dear Sunday is owned by five women, all uniquely and independently skilled: Atkins, Tiffany Little, Aysia Sylvia, Jackie Cook, and Lelia Wolfe.

“Everybody’s got a lane,” says Atkins, a piece to their complete puzzle.

Atkins, a Tallahassee native, comes from a successful career in restaurant and bar management; one of her ventures was Courtney’s, one of Tallahassee’s only fine-dining restaurants in the ’90s. Other founders come from the beauty industry.

Photo by Pablo Gabes

Lelia Wolfe, who is also at the restaurant this morning, notes the overlap between the beauty and food industries. “Everyone cares about how something looks,” Wolfe says. “That’s what’s going to be the star of the show … the appeal to your eyes.”

Wolfe also manages Vice Society and Blnd in CollegeTown. We chat about dirty sodas and the art of a good cold foam; it’s clear she knows about making drinks that are both beautiful and craveable.

And I’m in need of some caffeine, so I initiate my brunch with the cereal milk matcha, one of the current drink specials. Wolfe wasn’t joking about the cold foam—it’s perfect, especially considering it’s made with oat milk, and reminiscent of those pillowy cereal marshmallows we all love.

By the time my best friend joins me for brunch, we’ve also made the plunge on a Bananas Foster latte and the Ube Cake Batterlatte (we don’t joke about espresso). They’re the kind of delightful yet complex drinks that can turn a drab morning around.

Photo by Pablo Gabes

For the main event, I take Atkins’s recommendation and order the farmer’s style Greek salad, which is served sans-lettuce and inspired by the restaurateur’s travels in Greece. We also nab the Huevos Rancheros, Cold Brew French Toast, and a set of muffins to share.

I immediately wonder why I’ve never had a farmer’s Greek before—the signature ingredients shine much brighter in this format. And these are good ingredients, too.

Dear Sunday sources locally grown produce “as much as they can,” Atkins notes.

The Cold Brew French Toast, made with challah bread and cold brew custard, is as indulgent as it sounds and would pair supremely with a black cold brew. Our favorite dish of the day, though, is hands down the Huevos Rancheros, and we know it from the first bite. It’s one of those dishes where every component is savory on its own but begging to be stacked for the perfect bite.

Photo by Pablo Gabes

And obviously, no brunch is complete without a mimosa. We end our morning on a high note with a flight. You can’t go wrong with the classic iteration, or even a Bellini, but I found myself coming back to the Poinsettia again and again. It’s a perfect palate cleanser during a meal and a good conversation.

Speaking of good conversation: Perhaps the best thing about Dear Sunday is the way both the environment and the great food can elevate even an anytime brunch into a meal that feels like a real occasion and an opportunity to cultivate joy with whomever you’re dining with.

“I really think that there’s a sense of community here,” Atkins agrees. She notes the generational diversity of the restaurant space, too— from college students to families and lifelong residents, everyone can escape to the weekend here.

Before we returned to the weekday world, though, we stopped to chat with executive chef Erik Wheeler.

Photo by Pablo Gabes

Wheeler, who previously ran this kitchen when it fed Jeri’s Love on a Plate, prides himself on his consistency, patience, and precision.

“It’s nothing you haven’t heard of but done the right way,” Wheeler says of the ever-evolving brunch menu.

The kitchen, too, is maturing; Wheeler has secured new hardware to update efficiency and culinary capability.

Wherever you look at Dear Sunday, you’ll see pieces of a love story. “Let’s make a positive kitchen,” Wheeler says, and that positivity is nurturing Tallahassee from the center out.