November 24, 2010 § 15 Comments
Boston is a brunch city. This is one of the first things I really noted about the place after moving here a few years ago. Other characteristics I was more prepared for, the Red Sox fervor, the horrendous driving (you could use Bostonian driving to define the word abysmal), the unfortunate weather, the massive quantities of students stuffed into every historic nook and cranny. But, the brunch fanaticism, I was not prepared for.
Somehow, and who knows how, it has become a deeply rooted issue of culture and identity out here. Discussions about the best places for brunch are loving gush fests centered on hollandaise and stuffed French toasts, though disagreements can come close to blows. Oh, and any meal on the weekend that comes before dinner is called brunch. That was the most confusing part for me. People would invite me to brunch and when I’d ask what time they’d say 2pm. Isn’t that a late lunch??
I enjoy brunch foods, but I am not a brunch person. I am a breakfast person. One of those people who wakes up already reaching from their bed for a cup of coffee and a bite to eat. And if I don’t eat within approximately 30-45 minutes of waking up, I melt into an incapacitated, shaky, whiny, grouchy lump of low blood sugar. So, if I’m going to have brunch, I usually have breakfast first.
This works especially well on the day after a holiday like Thanksgiving. I languidly wake up – a couple of hours before everyone else – and while they slowly creak their eyes open and take a few hours to contemplate the idea of having something to eat (a hair of the dog that bit you after an extravagant feast like Thanksgiving, you could say) I get to dive into the leftovers of the pie, with some whipped cream of course, for breakfast. And by the time everyone else is ready for brunch, well, I am too!