A Buncha Brunches

It occurred to me recently that I have never written about one of my favorite New York activities; Saturday… and Sunday… brunch. I have some fond childhood memories of brunch, always associated with some holiday, Mother’s Day, Easter, but I don’t at all remember it being such the ritualistic activity I find myself involved in these weekends. My New York brunching habits happened quite naturally, as if the first Saturday I woke here as a resident I suddenly had the urge for a 1 o’clock omellete or club sandwich or pancakes. I instantly developed a craving for a breakfast… or lunch with not only a glass of water but also including coffee or tea AND orange juice or a mimosa. And so these are how my weekends generally begin, rolling out of bed, well not techinally OUT of bed but to the side of the bed where my phone is, dialing a friend, usually Megan, and begging her to come out to brunch with me. After some groveling and convincing (you CAN afford it… it’s only $12…we don’t EVER go out anymore.. coffee is INCLUDED!!!) we seem to usually end up in the Chelsea area where brunch is more than just a good meal, it’s a chance to scope out all the outfits you wish you could afford modeled by the daintiest and most gorgeous men you’ve ever seen. So many wonderful happenings can occur at brunch in Chelsea. I cannot fathom why I wasn’t included in the outing that involved a Happy Birthday chorus sung by 5 middle aged gay men in 5-part harmony, but Megan recounts it in such loving detail that I almost feel as if I was there. There’s always some sort of new and delightful bread product to sample be it a biscuit, a mini muffin, or even at the blessed place that serves tiny cinnamon roles pre-entrée. Coffee always flows freely and I generally find myself trembling from caffeine overload after the 12 cups I consume in the course of a meal. Waiters in Chelsea love to call you “sweetie” or “honey” which makes the experience all the more enjoyable and cozy and provides a comfortable atmosphere in which to send your food back if say, the eggs are raw… “Oh HONEY, let me haaave that plate, nobody needs to be eating raw eggs at Sunday brunch!” Most of all though, Saturday and Sunday brunches are the best hangover cure a girl could ask for, the chance to keep drinking an hour after awakening with great friends, adorable waiters, and damn good eggs.