Sunday Brunch

Brunch in Western New York

It started with Pat, George and Del.  They were regular Sunday brunch devotees at Tru-Teas. We opened at 12:00 noon and they came punctually.  The quiches were just out of the ovens.  The hollandaise was prepared.  The brunch cook’s timing was often good.  The service was unique, but friendly (George may be able to describe it better than me.)  The co-op across the street sold cooked organic, maple cured bacon on their steam table.  I picked up a couple of servings worth on the way in so we wouldn’t perfume our vegetarian restaurant with the delicious (to some) smell of frying meat.  In those days we served only tea to drink.  Coffee was in the same forbidden aromatic category  as cooking bacon. Beaufort was often the brunch cook.  She was also George and Del’s gardener so when she got out of the kitchen to visit the table, the conversation was often about what was blooming  and what was about to bloom.  Jennifer was the server for a year or so.  Then the brunch group grew to include Jennifer at the table.  Michael joined.  I had a hard time enjoying sitting at the table because I always felt compelled to watch our really mediocre servers.  They did not notice when tea needed refilling, when spoons needed to be replaced or dead flowers needed to be removed.  Del and George were dependable even if the servers were not.   They would call days ahead if they were going to be out of town or had another Sunday date.

Then Pat  died.  She suffered for less than a year.  She announced her diagnosis at a Sunday brunch. I think that may have been when Bloody Mary’s and champagne were incorporated into our brunch routine.  To toast to Pat.

I closed the restaurant shortly after because  I was spending more than I was making.  Tru-teas brunch was the gold standard.  We started a monthly tradition in search of the best brunch.  Beaufort and I enjoy critiquing every aspect of the menu.  We judge Hollandaise.  We discuss the fine points of egg preparation, and pasties and coffee.  Bloody Marys – who knew the variation that is possible? Too much Worchester, not enough vodka, bad vodka, too many ingredients, too bland, too hot, too, too much ice.     Someone said that a NY Times food writer declined to recommend a brunch place because they are all exactly alike.  We disagree.  We also have yet to find the quintessentially best brunch although a couple are definitely good.