A while back I drove to downtown L.A. for a Sunday brunch. When I was growing up many years ago before Christ was born, there was no such thing as brunch. You either ate breakfast or lunch, or preferably both, but this newfangled concept of combining the two meals into one hadn’t been invented yet.
My friends chose a new trendy fancy schmancy restaurant that had just opened like so many others are doing all over this gentrified area. I looked at the menu and realized what I don’t like about brunch. I had to decide whether I was in the mood for breakfast or lunch. I don’t like making momentous decisions any time and certainly not on a Sunday morning.
I think the idea behind brunch from the restaurant’s perspective is that they can charge you a dinner price for eating either breakfast or lunch. For instance, a breakfast of eggs will normally run you $7 to $10, but if you order the same eggs for brunch your tab could easily exceed $15. I decided against my better judgment to pay the $15 and be done with it. Not so easy.
When I asked the waitress for two eggs over easy with some toast, she told me the toast would be an additional $5. As you know by now, I am from Jersey, and we don’t pay 5 cents let alone $5 for toast with our eggs. “I don’t think so,” I explained to the waitress. “Toast comes with eggs just like butter comes with toast.” She understood I was about to leave the premises when she spoke with her boss and a major concession was made—I would not have to pay extra for the toast.
The eggs finally came but there was no salt or pepper on the table. When I requested same, the waitress told me the chef was quite particular about how he prepared his dishes, and did not want the patrons to tamper with his creations.
If you want to bring out the Jersey in me, just tell me something stupid like that. “I just ordered eggs over easy. Your chef didn’t have to create a thing. All he had to do was flip the damn eggs,” I argued. “Give me a break,” I pleaded. She returned to her boss and after quite some time, the salt was delivered not in a shaker, but in some fancy dish as if she were presenting caviar to the table.
That’s it for me and brunch. From now on I will eat breakfast or lunch, but never shall the twain meet.
