I love brunch.
I do not go out to brunch often, as I do not have the funds or the time to. I work five days a week, at an 8:00-4:30 clip, and work out six days a week. So I tend to spend most of my time eating to fuel my body, and simply keep it going. "Coal in the furnace" as it were.
But on the seventh day - that glorious seventh day - I brunch. It is not a meal to fuel my body. It is a meal to fuel my spirit, and dash all other meals into momentary obsolescence. It is also the only time when you can get publicly hammered-ass drunk at 11:00 in the morning and no one of any age, race or gender will look at you as though you're a naked vagrant sleeping on their front lawn.
I live in Los Angeles, California. Well, more accurately, Burbank. I am not from this area, though. I was born and raised in Oregon, and have spent most of my adult life in Portland. I only moved here in the last month or so. Portland is replete with delicious brunch places, all of which are so popular that you have to get there an hour before you intend to sit down and place an order. But the quality is often impeccable, and almost always worth the wait. Now that I've acclimated to life down in the city of (fallen) angels, I decided it was time to start experiencing all the brunch this giant place has to offer.
I recently befriended a group of people down here in California who are artists, like myself. One of these crazy people is a girl named Ann Beckette, who shares my enthusiasm for brunch. After a few brunch outings, it became clear to us that we were going to make this a regular thing, and now each of us is tasked to choose a new place every Sunday, where we go to gorge ourselves on rich food and drinks.
This blog will be part review, part celebration of good food, and part self-indulgent story-telling. For, what is brunch, if not a touch indulgent?
I do not go out to brunch often, as I do not have the funds or the time to. I work five days a week, at an 8:00-4:30 clip, and work out six days a week. So I tend to spend most of my time eating to fuel my body, and simply keep it going. "Coal in the furnace" as it were.
But on the seventh day - that glorious seventh day - I brunch. It is not a meal to fuel my body. It is a meal to fuel my spirit, and dash all other meals into momentary obsolescence. It is also the only time when you can get publicly hammered-ass drunk at 11:00 in the morning and no one of any age, race or gender will look at you as though you're a naked vagrant sleeping on their front lawn.
I live in Los Angeles, California. Well, more accurately, Burbank. I am not from this area, though. I was born and raised in Oregon, and have spent most of my adult life in Portland. I only moved here in the last month or so. Portland is replete with delicious brunch places, all of which are so popular that you have to get there an hour before you intend to sit down and place an order. But the quality is often impeccable, and almost always worth the wait. Now that I've acclimated to life down in the city of (fallen) angels, I decided it was time to start experiencing all the brunch this giant place has to offer.
I recently befriended a group of people down here in California who are artists, like myself. One of these crazy people is a girl named Ann Beckette, who shares my enthusiasm for brunch. After a few brunch outings, it became clear to us that we were going to make this a regular thing, and now each of us is tasked to choose a new place every Sunday, where we go to gorge ourselves on rich food and drinks.
This blog will be part review, part celebration of good food, and part self-indulgent story-telling. For, what is brunch, if not a touch indulgent?
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