Ahh, Boston, the city that inspires one-hit-wonder singles, pivotal moments in American History, and images of tombstones in the snow (or maybe a tea-colored body of water). These may be gross subjugations of the city. Regardless, I have a different take on Boston.

Boston means pancakes.

Located in Beacon Hill, The Paramount, has created that definition for me. A small, brunch-y nook, it serves up a variety of day, evening and brunch fare that feature simple and straightforward options executed with (an oxymoronic) simple sophistication.

Exhibit A: On a particular, bleary Friday morning, I stumbled upon their blueberry pancakes: fresh, sweet blueberries embedded in a sumptuous golden batter that had been lovingly carressed and cajoled to form that delicate, flat cake. With a light dusting of powdered sugar and light syrup the taste has been so permanently fixed in my memory that -this, this, is what makes me think fondly of Boston. I am sure at this point, native Bostonions are sighing and shaking their head sadly at me.

Priced at around 5 dollars, these quality pancakes are a steal. But beware the hot chocolate: it's made from mix.

So of all the things to love in Boston, let pancakes be one of them. I promise, they won't let you down.