An ongoing inquiry: why is brunch such shite? I been disappointed, even offended by bad brunches so often it's now just a cliché. These days I'm happier at a greasy spoon because at the very least it's predictable and cheap.
For example: this past Sunday we were at the farmers' market in a posh, condo-booming district. We ventured into what seemed a cute brunch spot and chose from the formulaic menu (variations on eggs and bacon, variations on Benedict, granola, pancakes, burger). What happened next was as banal as traffic. My Benedict was predictably sub-par: undercooked eggs leaking their gelatinous whites over peameal that tasted like it was stored in a used hockey sock; sauce dubbed Hollandaise which looked like foam insulation and tasted like dusting polish; tepid home fries slimed with peppers and paprika; half a Roma tomato, as firm and crunchy as a cucumber, snowed with shelf-stable "parmesan" and waved under a lit match. For this, we paid over $40. Vile. Embarrassing for all involved. And it has happened countless times at various establishments: bad food, weak service, high price.
So what's the problem? On the industry side, brunch is a nightmare to work whether you're at the stoves or on the floor waiting tables. Customers are fussy and tired, often hungover and so either ravenous or nauseous or both. They want comfort food, cooked to their own subjective ideal of perfection, and quickly. Satisfying these savages is futile.
I blame the egg -- the hallmark ingredient of brunch -- which is impossible to cook to everyone's liking. As a customer I'm just as bad as everyone else: I like my scrambled eggs soft and creamy, my omelettes well-whisked and not one bit browned and my poached eggs with a runny yolk and fully cooked white. You're likely retching because you like your scrambled eggs in firm curds, your omelettes puffy and golden and your poached eggs almost totally cooked with just a whisper of raw yolk. See?
It's smarter in the end just to go to the diner and order the 3-egg special knowing full well that it will be overcooked scrambled eggs and deep fried potatoes (laquer them both with HP sauce and all is forgiven), garden-variety toast moist with margarine, sausages cooked at 6am and kept in a warmer for 4 hours and -- bliss -- lots and lots of high-test coffee hot enough to scald off your taste buds. All for $4.99.
There's more to say here. I haven't even started in on the subject of stuffed French toast.
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Yes, what is it about brunch? I have had been served far more bad brunches in this city than bad lunches or dinners combined. On the Danforth I was once served an egg on a virtually untoasted English muffin with unripe avocado slices approximately as dense as plutonium. I cannot bring myself to describe it by the holy name of Benedict.
I've always assumed that the badness of brunch is due to the real cooks still sleeping off their Saturday night hangover.
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