It looks like an unassuming hole-in-the-wall, mom-and-pop greasy spoon. It has all the old familiar menu items, as quotidian and unsurprising as Clark Kent or Peter Parker. But look twice! Order the specials! Frumpy Mother Hubbard has a secret identity: She's Sexy Locavoracious Multi-Culti Witty Foodie Babe. One bite, and you know there's someone in the kitchen in a catsuit with a stick blender. She cruises the local farm trucks on South 12th Avenue and makes magic with what's fresh from local farms: Holy grail, Batman, this is fresh-squeezed muscatel grape juice! Look for home-brined corned beef, house sausage, frijoles cooked in a real clay olla, Algonquian Indian bannock, Balinese pork ribs, and the king's waffle (Belgian) in honor of Elvis: peanut butter, bacon, banana and a little mayo. The specials are pure genius.