I’m gonna be straight with you guys about an expensive and unhealthy habit I have called brunch. As much as both my wallet and waistline might appreciate it if I laid off the Hollandaise sauce a bit, my stomach has somehow come to expect that I will eat brunch once a week.
I’m pretty disciplined at cooking dinner and bringing lunch to work during the week, so when I wake up on Saturday mornings dreaming of sitting at a table that isn’t mine with a glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice and a plate of something with home fries, I usually give in.
Still, it’s an ironic daydream to have weekly, because going to brunch often involves a bunch of annoyances before you get to the decadent, food baby part: choosing a spot, waiting in line wrapped around the block, and saying yes to eating outside even though its a bit too cold because you’re just. that. hungry. Part of the brunch experience is feeling faint from hunger as you wait in line for a table, and yet, over the course of the next week, I manage to forget that part and remember only the leisure and indulgence of eating a warm, comforting breakfast that I
didn’t couldn’t make.
Regardless of all this, somehow this calorie-rich weekend meal has made its way into my life without discussion, and I’ve accepted it, despite reading from multiple sources that people who eat small meals more often, rather than a fewer bigger meals over the course of a day, live longer. I mean, it’s not shocking that combining meals — in this case breakfast and lunch — turns out to be an unhealthy idea. But on Saturdays or Sundays, I usually say to hell with that.
Brunch is the meal where everything is acceptable. Coffee, juice, alcohol — to each their own at brunch! Sandwiches, scrambles, pancakes, and granola — got it all covered at brunch!
And so, each time I sit down to brunch, I’m faced with the ultimate breakfast battle: sweet versus savory.
You know what I’m talking about. First I read about the breakfast burrito filled with potatoes, black beans and fresh salsa, and I think my decision is made, until my eyes catch a glimpse of the pumpkin waffles description. Then orange zest French toast says hi, and the smell of banana pancakes somehow finds its way into my nose. My sweet tooth has a close friendship with my frontal lobe.
While the hunger manages to confuse me and I think I’ll never be able to make a decision, I almost always opt for the savory option. But a few weekends ago I gave in to orange zest sourdough French toast and regretted it.
While that pile of sweet and crusty French toast was delicious, I only had one flavor on my plate, and at brunch I want variety. I want potatoes and toast and a scramble. I want to use hot sauce and jelly.
So I fixed things weekend over a plate of eggs florentine and a cup of bold coffee with cream.