Why Isn't Brunch a Thing?
Boozy Brunch at Piecemeal Pie
At 10AM, Saturday, the light is still early on South Main Street, gauzy light that begs you to reach out and run your fingers through - light that is perfect for a cup of coffee, as you gaze at the early walkers of the street, of the people that drift from car to building. They’re still bleary eyed, running errands that they’d rather not. You, though, you are sitting at the corner chair in the Piecemeal Pies, you have that cup of coffee, held in two hands, sweet, hot, perfect at this moment.
You have decided that it is time for brunch. Brunch. A meal that comes sometime after the early bird’s breakfast. A meal that once was argued as a reason to sleep in on Sundays; a reason to, with the hair of the dog, recover from a past night’s revelries before moving on to heavier fare of later meals. Brunch: the scene from the movie where last evening’s lovers gather for a cup of coffee, a Belgian waffle with fried rabbit, and fingers intertwined on a sunny sidewalk.
Unfortunately for many people brunch means a meal with heated trays of eggs and rubbery sausages, pancakes that are cool, and pitchers of juice beading with sweat. Where small children run, or complain about the food choices while one parent gazes at the other wishing that this hadn’t become the tradition, that Mother’s/Father’s day brunch wasn’t so routine. Where is the savior who will bring us the brunch of light filled windows? Who will write a menu that portends of great foods to come?
I tucked myself into the corner, the tufted chair looking out onto South Main Street in White River Junction. The sun still cresting the hills of New Hampshire warming the chair, lighting the exposed brick and communal table at the center of the room; people are starting to gather at the center table. The coffee is delicious. Beading with sweat is a mimosa that is waiting, orange, bubbly, but I waited for my meal. The menu, a proper menu, instead of sheet pans of knobby sausages and reconstituted scrambled eggs, tempted me with more than one dish. Biscuits and sausage gravy with fried sage & roasted tomatoes? Yes, please. Fried rabbit and waffles with Vermont cranberries & chili maple syrup? Absolutely. Corned beef hash and a poached egg with beets, Swiss chard & potatoes? Oh that’s the ticket; I could go on. My wife, still a bit sleepy eyed, has decided that the best way to enjoy her Corrupt Bellini is to hold it in two hands as she gazes up the street, as she enjoys this moment without our children. While we sit and share a word or two, or share the quiet, in sunlight with a good brunch.