I love brunch.
Wait, EVERYONE loves brunch.
As a hyperactive food-loving child even the slightest whisper of the ‘B’ word would send me crazy. Probably because back then brunch was one of those begrudging “oh, alright then…” meals, which usually resulted in a huge stack of syrupy pancakes and a very happy seven year old.
Stuffing my face with brunch based foods feels like the only thing I’m truly good at. When I’m not sitting down to a stack of fluffy pancakes and fresh berries, I’m waking up on a weekday morning praying it’s already Saturday and there’s bacon.
I’ve stopped posting about my brunch outings because it’s getting pretty embarrassing. Part of me wishes I’d come home from my weekend ballet classes to a fruit salad and a black coffee like a successfully skinny person. However I’m usually crying over my lack of waffles before I’ve even peeled my ballet tights off.
If brunch foods were a human we’d have the most amazing but complicated relationship. Now I’m thinking about poached eggs and english muffins and I want to cry again because it’s 7pm and nowhere normal is serving brunch foods.
This was originally supposed to be a post about my obsession with Bourne and Hollingsworth and their extensive (and delicious) brunch menu -not to mention that ‘gramable greenhouse – so I’ve gotten slightly off track.
Now being one of the first places my mind flits to when someone mentions the ‘B’ word, Bourne and Hollingsworth’s brunch foods are probably some of the best things I’ve ever tasted. That French toast 🙌 Plus, unlimited bellini’s are always a great idea (until you stand up and realise you’re pissed at 10am).
I’m feeling pretty emotional after writing this now, and I’m about to start a long hunt for crispy bacon. This might be a long night.