The best $5 spent on Sunday.

The Sunday Times. Yeah. I know. I wish that I could say that the best 5 dollars spent on Sunday was for one good seasame seed bagel toasted with cream cheese and a slice of tomatoe and a cup of coffee with milk, but I suppose that is an outrageous idea. The reason I part wuth my beloved Lincoln on a weekly basis is the Sunday Times. I like to walk around with it and feel the physical weight of the knowledge that I will surely forget by Monday morning. Perhaps like the Times because I have borrowed nostalgia for a city that was never mine, or possibly it is because I fantisize about my life in a few years laying in bed on sunday morning with an attractive gentleman and sharing our superior opinions on current events, and popular culture as portrayed by the leaning tower of self-indulgent new york intellectuals (Insert coffee, bagels and making-out into this fantasy, oo, ah, yum).
I like investing in the Times and though, I potentially spend $280 dollars(probably what it takes to feed a small child in a developing county) a year on it. I dont care.

I wont read the post. Don't try to make me.

Before today I had just a general disdain for the Post, no reason really, but the great masters of sardonic wit at the dcist.com called my attention to the "Best Bets: Readers Choice Awards" a stupid contest they run each year, giving my Sunday snobbery some concrete legs to stand on. This contest does nothing more than to make the few cool kids that call this place home question their own sanity for living in a city that votes Starbucks as the best place for Coffee and Ann Taylor loft the best womens clothing store. (I am not lying I checked out the results from last year). It is really pitiful. This contest gives lots 'o ammunition for the hating-on-dc gang, but I shall rise above, instead of falling into that crowd, I am going to direct my anger at the source-the Post.

Shame on you Post.

I already knew I didn't like all of those people that read you and vote, but I try to stay positive and just avoid that crowd.
So the genius people at the post have included a brunch section, which needs to be addressed.
First off, f*ck Arlington Va, f*ck Virginia in general for that matter. The only good things that have ever come out of Virginia are my friends Maura F. Myers and David I. Stonehill, and a couple presidents. I don't want to go there, and I certainly don't want to go there for my sunday meal with some friends, to eat, drink and be merry, and then get on the metro, is there even a metro out there? I know some people have a place in their shriveled hearts for VA, but I dont, and I most definately think it deserved 3 out of 10 nominations for brunch.
Now lets talk about Kramer's brunch, unquestionably the most over-rated brunch in town, well maybe next to the diner(the diner is actually one of the only places i'll go in adams morgan, I think I like the high ceilings, but I dont understand why there is always a crowd outside). Back to Kramer's, poor service, mediocre food, unexplainably long waits, bad coffee, you need those obnoxious coins to use the ladies room, arg.
Peacock-good for people watching and lunch, but brunch?

Wait, Wait, I can't go on this is ridiculous, too much bitching for a Friday. Thanks alot. Once again Washington Post, you have ruined my day.

Brunch Bumpkins in Khakiland

Is DC not the most offensively preppy place on the eastern seaboard? Young, J-Crew-wearing New Englanders venture south in search of down home gentility. Industrious and politically concerned southern belles and beaus head north in search of the northeastern urban experience. They come together at the nations capital, the southern tip of the northeastern megalopolis. Gentification ensues--a force that is propelled by the possibility that they may too have a neighborhood where they can venture out of their young professional digs in their flip-flops on a Sunday morning, at various stages of hung-over and draped across that mop-bucket of an intern they brough home with them last night, and fill their growning bellies while drinking their last nights embarassments away. Brunch there seems a fairly homogeneous drunk-wasp affair. I may be wrong, and I digress.

Perhaps I should write from experience, however, and not second hand impression. Out here is smoggy Los Angeles, you have a pretty wide selection of brunch styles. You can eat your moring bread and porrige at some shabby chic digs in Santa Monica; go hipster watching at some intentionally greasy spoon in Los Feliz; or put on your Sunday tackies and head for a low tide $20 bagle and lox with the Lexus leasing crowd in Malibu.

In the spirit of oneupsmanship, I have settled onto dragging my wife around town to gather some material so that my inevitably petty contributions to this blog might some day communicate some real world brunch experience. I had hoped, this past Sunday, to start out with a gloating bang. I decided to start at the top: the ever swanky, reservations needed in advance, Napa Valley Grill.

Ok, lets grant the fact that in the process of writing this, I have quickly devolved into that negative, snarky mood that writing any critique puts me in. I am aware. I am also aware that the Napa Valley Grill deserves a swift kick in the rump for their grandiose claims to serve brunch. So much online advertisement on citysearch about their five star brunch is perhaps one of the more misleading claims I have fell for in a few weeks. Their stellar line-up consisted of a weak benedict, a standard omlet, and a build-it-yourself version of the standard omlet. Period. The waiter. Oh the waiter. Yet another aspiring actor. The buzz about town is that if all the illegial Mexicans were deported, the city's restuarants would cease and desist. So untrue. It is the struggling actors that keep the culinary service at its dull rhythm around here. Beautiful faces = poor servants. Ours started out all but insisting that we choose a bottle of wine. Not mention of mimosa or a bloody gal. He was visibly put off when I ordered an orange juice. For fuck sake man, I can understand the absence of pancakes from an upscale menu, but if you want to suggest a drink to go with my (low quality) benedict, the house Noir reveals an absence of sense.

Aparently I skipped some pretty important World Cup games for this brunch. Napa Valley Grill is a few long miles away from our apartment, and despite the heat, I made my wife walk with me. She caught an allegry attack shortly before we left and between my stubbornness that the pollen soaked air would be good for her, and the pitting out going on underneath our arms, the walk was the first sign of an all around set of poor choices on my part: the restuarant being only one. Thankfully, the company, a couple I had so wanted to impress with my high-scale selection of venue was sufficiently chatty so as to keep the embarassing state of my perspiring brow, as well as the overall smoke-and-mirrors quality of the "Grill".

My bacon was burned, the fruit was withered, the OJ was from the can. The wine-pusher put me off my drinking game. All in all, a disappointment swells in my chest. Thankfully I live in a city as diverse as it is polluted.

For next weekend, we will slum it. I am left to decide between the "classic" Los Angeles strip-mall dive or the fake-house looking corporate chain IHOP. There probably won't be booze, but after last Sunday, I am endorsing the brunch pre-gamer. Perhaps in the lot, out of the back of my pickup truck.

Charleston, Charleston, South Caroliiiiina

So, I went to this big, huge, monster of a southern wedding this past weekend. It was these two UVA sorority/fraternity grads who were getting married. My parents are besties with the Groom's parents so we grew up together. I would no associated with this crowd under any other circumstances, and didn't really associate much while I was down there anyway.
But to get back to the point of this blog... brunch.
Both Saturday and Sunday morning, my family and I decided to dine in the hotel restaurant. In general, this is not always the best idea unless the hotel is known for having a spectacular restaurant associated with it. This is especially the case in Charleston, a city packed full of cute independent joints, the hotels see no reason to offer any competition. However, I was severely hungover both mornings. As such, the prospect of leaving the hotel to stand outside in the bright, humid, heat, of one of these cute independent joints while waiting for a table, was not appealing. As such the bid to eat downstairs met little resistance from me.
Mistako numero uno: Buffets are not a good idea for brunch. The food has most likely been sitting out for a while, and is therefore pretty gross. While breakfast buffets probably offer you the widest selection of choices, your giving up quality for quantity, and really how much can you eat in the morning? Ewe, and think about those eggs. They have been sitting in that crock pot so long they can no longer be described as scrambled.
However, In my bleary eyed state, I panicked. I didn't see anything on the menu appealing to me. Mostly, cause I could barely see the menu at all. And i ordered the buffet.
Mistako Numero Dos: Upon sidling up to the buffet, I spy with my little eye smoked salmon. As I have noted in the past, one should never ever ever order seafood at hungover brunch- it is a bad idea. However, I have also informed you loyal readers of my tri-yearly mistake of inevitably doing so. This was my breakdown. I loaded up my plate with a bagel, cream cheese, some fruit and smoked salmon. Why, oh why Taylor do you ignore your own rules. You know what the outcome will be, yet you persist. grrrr.
So I sit down next to my parents who have ordered, no joke, "The Plantation Breakfast." Which is some funky ham, two eggs over easy, blood eye gravy and grits. I had not heard of blood eye gravy so I gave it a try, salty and good, and went oh so well with the grits. My mom explained to me that the name comes from when you cut a bone in half it looks like a red eye in the middle.
Anyway, as you can imagine, the salmon didn't sit too well and i ended up eating all my dad's grits and red eye gravy, much to his chagrin.
The sad thing is I learned my lesson about the salmon for the next day, but not the buffet. Again I panicked and ordered the buffet. Even though I wanted the Plantation, I felt ashamed ordering it, and went of the easy way out.

Beer Die

Certainly everyone, and by everyone I mean all self respecting alcoholics, has thier favorite games. Be it kings, 7-11 doubles, three man, asshole, or "drink till my finger goes down," we've all dabbled. One game I learned in College, which I think must be my favorite, is Beer Die. The rules are endlessly complicated and varied so convincing people to learn to play can be quite the task, but I assure you, once they do, they'll be hooked.
Supplies:
1 8-foot long folding banquet table
1 magic or sharpie black marker
4 chairs
4 solo cups
beer
as many die as you can get your hands on.
Two teams fo two
The Set Up:
At either end of the table set up the two chairs about 2 feet from end of table.
Place full solo cups elbow to fist distance from end of table, and one fists length in
Oldest Player starts with die
You only play with one die at a time
The Rules:
1. You must toss underhand, meaning your toss ends palm up
2. The die must go as high as it does long (key)
3. You may not say 5 or 7. Instead say bizz and buzz, respectively.
4. If you toss the die and it clips a defensive players cup at all, this is called a "Plink." The other team must drink.
5. You must drink whenever your partner drinks.
6. If the die is tossed and it lands in the opposing player's cup this is called a "plunk" and the opposing team must chug out and refill thier cups and the game continues.
7. The die must go off the table within a 45 degree angle of the end other wise it is "OB"
8. The defensive team must catch the die one handed.
9. The die must hit the table at least once to count.
10. A point is scored when a) the die is tossed as high as it is long b) it hits the table at least once c) it falls off the end of the table within 45 degree angle on either side and the other team fails to catch it one handed.
11. Games are played till either bizz or buzz depending on how many people are waiting for the tabl and how mean your feeling.
12. Like tennis, Beer Die is a gentleman's game. If the defensive team makes a call of low for instance, then the toss is low. You may talk shit but you can't argue a call or defer to impartial judges.
13. If at any point there is confusion about whose turn it is, simply call "possesion" and toss.
14. It is ettiquet for the thrower to tap the die twice and wait for the other teams acknowledgement before tossing.
15. The die may not be tossed until all cups are on the table.
16. You toss in a Z formation- the person sitting directly across from the initial tosser (hehe) tosses second, and then the partner of the original tosses goes and so on.
The Penalties:
1. If the die dosen't go as high as it does long the defensive team may shout "Low." The defensive team must shout "low" before the die stops moving. This negates any results from the throw. If the defensive team calls it late, the "low" rule is thrown out and the result of the toss stands. If the toss is deemed "low" the team that threw it must take a drink.
2. If the die is "OB" use rule above, substituting "OB" for "low"
3. The opposing team catches the die two handed- drinking penalty, poor form, and general disapproval from those around you.
4. If the die misses the table, it is an "air die" and the team that threw must take a drink and snicker to themselves about thier own stupidity.
The Terms:
"The Plink"- A Plink is a plink is a plink. No matter the circumstances if the die hits the cup, the team whose cup it hit has to drink. The "low" rule does not out weigh the "plink is a plink is a plink" rule.
"The Plunk" - If you score a plunk you get a beer die name. The people around you choose the name, you have no input. You then write your name on the table with the marker, underline it and put a hash mark under the hashline. If you already have a name- write it on the table, underline, and hash mark. If your already "on the table" you get to add another hash mark under your name.
"The Bitch Plunk"- the die bounces once before landing in the opponents cup. You note this on the table by putting an asteriks next to that hash mark.
"Poaching"- When your team mate catches the die in "your territory."
"Cup Check"- at any time curing the game, the offesive team may call "cup check" and the deffensive players must verify that thier cups are in their correct positions.
Interesting variations and instances:
1. The Self Plunk- everyone's favorite. You idiotically drop the die in your own cup. You must first chug out and then get naked. You may put your clothes back on only once your team has a) plunked or b) the game is over.
2. The Chest Trap- People with boobs may trap the die against thier tits with one hand.
3. You may catch the die so long as it is moving- take this to mean what you will.
4. A plunk is a plunk is a plunk- people have been known to walk to the other side of the table and drop the die in the opponents cup and... a plunk is a plunk is a plunk- drink up.
5. Rocket Die- When playing beer die indoors with low ceilings- you may toss the die up high enough and hard enough that it ricochets off the ceiling and fires down to the other end of the table making it near impossible to catch. Some tables have a ban on rocket die- they are weak.
6. Jungle rules- even I am unclear on all of these.

Oh Dear, Oh My Goodnes, It's Amazing!

Driving along (i know i'm a bad person) to work today in my normal haze, listening to NPR morning edition, just before a commercial, I hear "a new study has found that drinking coffee may help repair liver damage due to alcohol consumption." A huge smile spreads across my face as I slap the streeing wheel. "I knew it!" I exclaim, while swerving to avoid a pedestrian. Sadly I was pulling into work and could not listen to the report. Immediately, upon booting up my computer, I began searching for the article. I was unsuccessful in my google searches of "hope for alcoholics" and "coffee, liver damage, massive alcohol consumption." Luckily, one of my good friends, and probably my best g-chat friend, has a job that requires him to read a bajillion newspapers every morning, so I defered to him and he sent me to this article : http://www.nytimes.com/2006/06/13/health/13prev.html?_r=2&oref=slogin.
Well the online picutre looks alot more like chocolate pudding than coffee to me, but hey I won't hold a grudge because holy crap! It's amazing! - "Compared with people who never drank coffee, those who drank one cup a day or less were about 30 percent less likely to develop alcoholic cirrhosis. The more coffee they drank, the lower the risk. At one to three cups per day, the risk was lowered by 40 percent, and those who drank more than four cups a day reduced their risk by 80 percent. Coffee had no statistically significant effect on the risk for nonalcoholic cirrhosis."
I feel like this is why I've been drinking so much coffee. Like, subconsciously I knew it was good for me, or rather my body recognized that fact. It's absolute genius. I feel like I can be an unashamed alcoholic now. Who cares about all the other health problems that arise from alcohlism. I'll be able to donate my liver when I die now and that's good enough for me.
I also thought it was interesting that
"the researchers are unsure what ingredient in coffee is at work, but since tea drinking offered no protection against either form of the disease, they concluded that caffeine was not responsible for the effect."- which is why the british will never be as successful as us...moreover, the british government should think about giving some funding to the coffee industry in order to woo the population away from tea. I mean thier the ones with national health care system. I mean rather than try and cut down on the binge drinking culture over there, they really should focus on tea. In the long run I think they would save alot more money.

Chinatown and the Côte d'Ivoire: When Brunch meets the World Cup

All about town the hum of the world cup is taking over, people are jumping at the chance to behave like fools and wear flags as capes. Frankly, I could care less. Its not that I dont dig soccer, or an excuse to act like a fool, because I like both of them. I like the idea of bringing nations together on a relatively equal playing field. The Ivory Coast is a great example of bring together a nation at war with itself to chillout and play a little football. Its nice and provides a warm and fuzzy to make these fools feel like they are participating in something bigger than themselves. Maybe they are, whatever.
I am principally concerned with the competition that my beloved favorite meal of the week is getting. So with these games starting at what like 9:00am, people are boozing it up all over town. Chinatown was the stop where I was suckered into watching. With the total utter lameness of the District's Chinatown I was pleasantly surprized by the 6 hours I spent there, next to the all so authentic CVS, McDonalds and Legal Sea Food.
All of that aside.
The thing is if I am getting out of bed to go start drinking o the weekends, I would rather be drinking a mimosa and enjoying umm, I dont know an omlette with sundried tomatoes and pecorino, not a newcastle and fish and chips.
So I have this predictament brunching alone v. subjecting myself to the flag toting fools, bar food and beers. I guess its just a month and If I was actually watching and paying attention to the games I know I would really like it. Besides cute boys like soccer don't they?

Bedtime Story: To be enjoyed with a Whiskey, not a warm milk

I also find townhouse to be a most satisfactory place to spend my weekend evenings, but in an effort not to bore you with THT- Lovefest 2006(we wouldn't want this going to anyone's head) I have decided to share a little incident that occured at this superior watering hole.

A little while ago (a couple months or weeks- my memory seems to fade with every visit to THT), I was enjoying a nice Jack & Ginger as well as the satsifaction of running into everyone you want to see without having to call them (oh the sublime perfection of a neighborhood bar). Myself and a friend were enjoying the Juke box. This being the same jukebox, which my partner in crime so adores. We were ecstatic to discover Cody Chestnut's hit, "I look good in leather"( which is almost definately not the name of the song, but is however the central theme). This song also happened to be the opener of said friend's newest musical compliation. We requested this along with a number of other hard-to-find hits.
We were being patient, since most of the songs on the box are good anyway. But our patience wore thin, as the music continued and what we choose did not played (PS- I have the habit of chosing the same song over and over again, for some reason I think its cute when I am a little toasted.)
At some point, when I was coyly flirting and sipping on drinks, my Cody Chestnut-loving friend called the number on the jukebox to complain that his song was not being played. Apparently he left quite a rude message, but forgot to include the location of the oh-so-stubborn juke as well as any information about himself. However, this smarty pants that "looks good in leather" did manage to leave his phone number.
The next day, we discoevered that the man on the opposite end of the juke had called back and left an equally rude message on my friend's voicemail. Mr. Jukebox Marshall pointed one interesting fact that not everyone may know-1-there is not one number for every jukebox in the world. Mystifying, isn't it?
He then proceeded to berrate my beloved lush for his use of language the previous evening by using some of his own colorful colloqialisms. All in all it was a hazy but memorable evening.

The Fabulosity that is Townhouse Tavern

but don't go there; you won't like it.

A dive bar on the corner of R and 17th is my favorite DC retreat. Though the prices are a little less than reasonable, the ambiance and Juke Box more than make up for it. I remember my first venture there. After a sushi dinner with a bunch of friends from high school, we ended up here slightly drunk on Saki and generally jubilant. Walking in, I knew it was the place for me. Dim red lighting, generally grungy with equally non-quaffed clientele surrounded us as we took a table. "Took a table" being key as I hate to have to stand around at a bar like a tool. The only reason for standing around at a bar is if you are going to dance, otherwise you look like a tool and I do not want to hit on you and I do not want to be friends.

Upon spying the juke box, I hopped up to inspect. I was nearly in tears flipping through the selections. These are happy tears mind you, and I do not cry very often, unless a cat is involved. Where else in DC, can you find Sebadoh, Joy Division, X-Ray Specs, Velvet Underground, Tool, the Pxies, and Nirvana all in one spot? I sure do not know where, and if it is in VA I will eat my housemate's greasy red sox cap. (Distraction, cute teenage skater boy just walked by...sigh)

The creme de la creme being this one bartender. Basically, my friends and I go now in hopes of glimpsing her hotness. I have finally developed a repoire with her and get a smile or an eye roll depending on the scene every time I walk in.

Many a hazy nights have passed in this beloved locale. While I do not recommend brunching here....ever (see entry "The Begginning") it is a perfect place to end the night, or pre-game before going to some place your dreading.

Everyone's Second Favorite Brunch Beverage, MY FIRST!

I love a good Mimosa, probably similar to the fashion in which any good frat-boy loves a Natty ice, or any good hipster loves a PBR. Mimosas are nice and light, much less commitment than a bloody(though I love those too). I was thinking of posting this elaborate and fun recipe on making my favorite kind of Mimosa, but really they are much more straight forward than the o-so-elaborate recipe that T has concocted for her Bloody. Instead I thought I would share so yummy ideas for a variation on the darling M.

Well lets get to the basics-
1 champagne flute-MANDITORY
2 ½ parts-Champagne
to ½ part Orange juice-(depending on how I feel that morning it can range from a big splash to a little splash) -freshly squeezed and a little pulpy if possible, but really its whatever your pleasure

Fun, and excited variations

Using a Grapefruit/OJ combination.
Adding a splash of Campari, or grenadine
Adding a slice of pineapple and a cherry

To-Go-get one of those little oj cartoons-chug more than half-bc vitamin C is a rejuvenating liquid and filling the rest with Champagne, which is perfect for any day time activity from walking around town to going to the suburbs(in that case just skip the oj all together-trust me you will need it).

Enjoying a Mimosa is generally something I would rather do at home away from the scrupulous eyes of the public, but I have enjoyed a nice mimosa at Saint Ex à(shocking I know), and a couple of undisclosed places in Georgetown. Tell me where your favorite Mimosa is and let me be the judge!

Contest

To win our undying love and respect.

In order to go legitimate, Laura and I need a more serious name for our blog than "Brunch and Bullshit" and we need your help. Please post ideas in the comments section, or e-mail them to us.
Hugs and kisses and bites on the neck,
-Laura and Tay

In Search of a Good Bloody Mary

Tay's Recipie:
One plain water glass- can hold about 10 oz fluids
Ice- Fill glass 2/3 full with cubes
Vodka- with ice in glass, fill glass up to 1/3 or 1/4 mark
Bold and Spicy Mrs. T bloody Mary mix- fill rest of glass, leaving 1" room at top of glass
Worcester Sauce- It all depends on you, I like to put somewhere between 6 and 10 dashes
Salt- To Taste
Pepper- To Taste, I like alot
Tobasco Sauce/Hot Sauce- Use your favorite, but I really have to reccomend that red Chinese one that has the green top on it. Add to Taste
1/4 wedge of lime- a must
Celery Salt- a few dashes
Red pepper flakes- to taste
Cajun Seasoning or OLD BAY- To taste, at least a few dashes
Pickled Crunchy Green Beans- 1 or 2
Green Olives- 1 or 2
Celery Leaves smooshed - 1 or 2
Stalk of Celery
Horseraddish- 1 tsp if that
If you have whiskey on hand, I reccomend swilling some in the glass before you begin, makes everything smoother.

As such I am on a quest and have been for some time now, to find the best bloody mary in the city.
I remember one fateful hungover brunch at bus boys n' poets. It was a wintery Sunday Mid-afternoon. After waiting 1/2 hour, we finally sit down. I ordered only three drinks that day, for-going the soda. I also had the turkey sandwich, which was fantastic. But even better, I had a fantabulous bloody mary. The rim was dipped in some sort of seasoning, which i believe to be old bay and red pepper flakes. The make up of the drink was salty and succulent, and perfect. Just spicy enough, little to no horseraddish, a big fat olive and plenty of lime. I drank the first one down in no time and was forced to order another. This time i savored it. I went back to bus boys some time later on a saturday with high hopes only to have them dashed at the piss-poor bloody that was placed before me that day. My guess was that the quality bloody mary bar tender was only working sunday brunches then and vowed to only ever go back on a Sunday. I went back a following Sunday and was again disspointed by the watery flavorless beverage I had had that Saturday before. Worse yet, the eggs benedict hollandaise was lumpy and not scrumptous.
Maybe I was hallucinating that first sunday, maybe I was still drunk as is more likely the case, but I need to know what happened to my perfect bloody mary maker. Was it just a one off thing? Did they get hired somewhere else? Do they not work the brunch shift any more? Tell me....
Shout outs- Open City- I've always had a decent and sometimes Fabulous Bloddy here, besides that, the place rocks out...

Tay's Tips on Brunching
*for application when hungover*

1. Always, Always, Always, order more than one beverage. Your waiter will despise you when you rattle off your list, but try flirting with them a little and maybe they won't spit in your coffee. Besides whats a little waiter spit compared to what you had in your mouth last night. So here is my typical order-
Coffee- cause a moring without coffee is like having your eyes taped open, being strapped down to a chair and forced to watch "shall we dance" over and over again.
7-Up- Sprite can be substituted, even diet coke. I find the soda bubbles helps with the nausea.
Water- Duh
Bloody Mary- It has all the vitamins you need and takes the edge off. Tho you must be careful when consuming cause your state can sprial out of control in one of two ways if your not mindful. Either the drink can make you feel even worse, in which case you must cease and desist immediately, or b- you want more more more, and you find yourself in much the same state you were in last night by 2pm on a sunday and you have work the next day.

2. When deciding what to order, do not go with your gut feeling. Use your head about what will "be best for you" at that very moment. About every six months or so I find myself inexplicably again believing smoked salmon or crab cake benedicts are a good idea. About two bites into said plate I find myself rushing to the bathroom in vommity haze of badness. Never, ever, ever order seafood the morning after unless you have the constitution of sailor. And always order something fatty and with protien. Or a salad can bee a good option cause the roughage will make you feel like you are cleaning out your system.

3. Always joke with the waiter about feeling so crappy and about what a night you had the night before. I'm telling you they love this! They can't get enough of their patrons being whiney and anoying, they find it totally charming and don't mind your suffering at all, cause comparably thiers can't be worse, even though they priolly went out the night before as well and are having to work the next day...

4. Leave a big tip, cause you were deff. annoying and considering how much you spent last night, doesn't your waiter deserve a hearty thanks for helping to nurse you back to life?

5. In choosing a brunch spot, consider these factors:
- Distance between you and brunch spot, or if you are meeting people, distances between all parties involved.
-expected crowdedness of brunch spot, based on time of day and popularity
- drinks deals
-word of mouth

Hope you find this helpful

The Beggining

It has long been the quest of man to find the perfect brunch spot. One that will match the perfect hangover or general level of well-being on any given weekend morning. So Saturday morning after completing the Race for the Cure 5k( in fantastic time by-the-way) Taylor and I struck out to implement a brilliant plan of consuming never-ending bloody mary's and brunch. However, because DC really drops the ball in the food department, we end up wandering around the city for 3 hours building up un-realistic expectations about the possibility for the delicious-ness of the brunch which we are so patiently awaiting. We had in mind to try our favorite neighborhood night spot, Townhouse Tavern, for all you can drink and a greasy breakfast to go with.
As the magic hour approached, we entered into what normally passes as the perferable bar spot for any dark liqour drink or possibly beer. However, the smell, and scene, or lack there of, was something that I never again want to experience sober, after a do-gooding activity. The foul combination of the cigs, beer and vomit, did not delight the senses after so healthy a morning. Realizing our mistake, we decide to split. Having read reviews of Creme we decide to try it out, until we remembered the prices on the menu we had read earlier that morning in our travels. While the $10 all you can drink bloody mary offer is tempting, the $15 entres are not. As one is right next to the other, we next checked out Utopia which promises $1 Mimosas or Bloodys, only to discover U-topia is only the ideal brunch spot on Sunday's as on Saturday's it is closed. Then we are thinking about Saint Ex, and though we have been before, and they don't have bottleless bevies, we suck it up and go, bc by this time, my stomach has started talking to me.
Saint Ex, though a standard, always makes me happy. As I think restaurant reviews should all do an obligatory clienttele comment section here is mine for Saint Ex:
"The crowd: always attractive, well dressed, hipsters and regular neighborhood folk alike flood the bar reaffirming my belief that good-looking people are always more fun. Really they get style points and niceness points. The hostess who i think could be new, had some sweet paul frank glasses, that made me want to buy some fake ones. In order to fulfill our voyeristic needs, we choose to sit at the bar facing the street. This gave us a great view of the mid-thirties, I want to hang onto the clothes my mother wanted me to throw out when I was 14 crowd. Contrary to what you might be thinking this is the highest compliment. I even made a small effort to eye flirt for the prospect of a possible invite to sit at the cool table. I don't even like tatoos, but I liked theirs. Okay, the bevvies: A Pitcher of bloodies(aren't we being ecconomical). the bloodies we only mediocre. sub-par if you ask me. WAY too much horseradish, like WAY. If I wanted a horseradish cocktail I would have asked for one. I also didn't ask for the wow-this-girl-just-ordered-a-pitcher-of-bloody-marys looks from the patrons sitting at the bar. Oh well. The olive was good, but we clearly made the wrong choice, as we were fighting over who was to finish the pitcher. The food:I would say the best decision of the day was to ask for the benedict with fried green tomatoes AND ham. As I think Taylor and I both fancy ourselves benedict afficionados, we are not f-ing around. it was good. rather rich and too filling. but lets just say we were both member of the CPC. the hollondaise sauce was quite yummy and smooth. the ham delicious, though I prefer my pork meat on the chewier side., the fried green tomato is always a fun addition. The mini potatoes I think were the highlight for me. As one who will sit and pick every single item on their plate(garnishes included-sometimes) I appreciate it when a breakfast spot isn't trying to load me up the carbohydrates to create a false feeling of satisfaction in my stomach. yum! it was good, and lets just say their brunch is better than their dinner. The check: completely reasonable and well worth it. All and all it was sucessful. Also note to self-brunch is a meal that should be enjoyed hungover, with the nice heartburn feeling in your chest and bags under your eyes, though as Taylor put it so nicely I did have bags under my eyes.