Brunch

So, after another long Saturday night shift my thoughts immediately shifted to the most despised of all restaurant traditions. Brunch. After 24 years in this business, I still ask myself (or my equally tortured sous-chef)WHO THE FUCK CAME UP WITH BRUNCH? What asshole woke up one Sunday ( a day of rest?)and thought "If only I could sleep in and go eat an omelet at noon" I sometimes wonder if if I could accept this horror if it were just called lunch. Noooo it's brunch. As if a euphemistic name will change how much it is despised. Waiters hate it.Chef's hate it. Less care goes into the food and service than any other shift. Put your worst crew on it and hope they show up because BRUNCH will make employees quit. I guarantee there is more absenteeism on Sunday morning, than all other shifts combined. And with good reason. It sucks. And the sheep that flock to brunch out of tradition, decked out in their silly hats and Sunday finery are enough to make one sick on their own. Cute little old ladies wanting their poached eggs. Closeted,picket fenced husbands in their after church get-ups wanting an egg white omelet and a brandy milk punch. A fucking egg white omelet?What the fuck is that? I wish I could develop a whiteless egg just for brunch. A brandy milk punch? What kind of nancing alcoholic silliness is that? A mimosa. a MIMOSA?....what are we on the goddamned Orient Express? I feel so sophisticated when I drink those!
Here's what Sunday morning is for: Getting up late, moving slowly and waiting until the previous night's headache has subsided enough to form a rational thought as to where to get grease.
My personal way to deal with this is to provide eggs dishes that extend a middle finger to traditional scrunch offerings. Eggs Benedict? No. Eggs Allistair Crowley(with blood sausage no less)Eggs Richey Rich ( with foie gras, redwine sauce and a hefty price tag. If you're gonna dictate my serving brunch, I'm going to drain your wallet)Eggs Florentine? Please. That's far too pleasant sounding for Sunday morning. How about Eggs Burning in Hell (Soft boiled eggs , quickly deep fried and served with a blistering pepper sauce)

The true irony is that despite my best efforts, it never ends. It always works in reverse.

So why don't I quit serving brunch if I hate it? Money and revenge.