A Brunch Grows in Brooklyn

So brunch and I – we have an unhealthy relationship.

Brunch for me is a gateway drug to bingeing: My little pea brain can't handle the idea of a meal that is sorta kinda two meals with maybe a snack thrown in there, at a time of day I don't usually eat. How much can I eat? I wonder. What if I wake up starving? What if I'm hungry afterwards?

Nor can my brain handle the idea of so many foods I love (and that are not known for either their health or satiety factor) stuffed onto one menu. How to choose just one (or two or three)? What if I choose wrong? What if the choice – or the hunger, or anything, really – unleashes a binge, as it used to so frequently? (I remember all-day Sunday binges being a staple of my years living in Washington DC.) Add that many brunches don't accept reservations – so you can queue for hours – and, well, you can see why I am wary.

A friend in New York pointed out that brunch, at least in New York, could be any time until about 3 pm, so I am well within "normal" to suggest a lunchtime brunch.

Which is what I did on Sunday.

Originally I was supposed to meet a (gluten-free) friend from work at some vegan, gluten-free brunch spot. The menu was limited, and I figured I'd be fine. Then on Saturday I happened to be double-checking the location and saw the gluten-free waffles (the reason for choosing it in the first place) were temporarily off the menu. So I asked her to suggest another spot, and she did. I checked out the menu and feared disaster, because I wanted every single thing on it.

Sunday morning I was still torn between the biscuits and gravy and attempting something healthy, like maybe the steel cut oatmeal but without the cream.
She texted me from the restaurant: "Epic wait." Danger, danger.

"What's an epic wait?" I asked when I arrived. "Oh, 45 minutes," she said. Thought it was my normal lunchtime, I wasn't starving. I shrugged and said I was fine to wait.

And I was. We sat down and she said: "I've heard the gravy is legendary. Spicy."

The last word did it for me – no thanks. I saw plates of pancakes, beignets, French toast. Everything looked delicious. For a brief second I wanted all of it. Then I sat and calmly considered what tastes I wanted, and how I wanted to feel when I was done.

I considered ordering a few healthy sides, and then decided I'd just feel resentful. So I ordered eggs (poached) and grits, which came with a choice of vegetable or a meat. I decided I wouldn't feel at all deprived with a vegetable (sautéed kale). And

I ordered an extra side: A buttermilk biscuit.

It arrived with a huge pat of butter already on it. I was calm.

I cleaned my plate, fast but still calmly. It was all delicious.

I felt happy, but not stuffed. I told myself I could have an afternoon snack if I needed it (I didn't – it probably helped that we didn't eat until 2.30 pm). I didn't spend the rest of the afternoon debating various cuts I'd have to make, or wishing I could sit down somewhere and unbutton my jeans.

I'm not sure how it happened, but somehow it did.

"Brunch at Egg was amazing," I texted a friend. "I might be obsessed." This particular friend knows my history with brunch, and I knew would understand, with no further explanation, the significance of what seems like a fairly routine text.

She responded: "I'm glad you're enjoying New York."

Me, too. Now if only I could have as much luck with the wedding I'm attending (somewhat on the spur of the moment) this weekend...