Saturday, December 08, 2007

One-Brunch Stand

One always has high hopes when one finds a new restaurant. We do, don't we? I had that feeling when I first walked into Orange in Roscoe Village for brunch.

However, the feeling quickly dissipated when I found that the restaurant is not equipped to seat any party larger than four and we had to wait like 30 to 45 minutes to get seated. I don't know about you, but brunch is not a meal where people like to wait to get seated: they're hung-over, they're starving, they've just got out of bed with a complete stranger. Plus, the hostess told us with her snooty attitude that she won't seat us unless everybody was there, which is understandable, but fuck, brunch is a group thing and gays are almost always running on gay time.

If you're a gay couple, a group of six or more is practically de rigeur. We almost never go out to the bars anymore, so brunch is the only way we get to see our friends. By the time our group of six was ready to be seated, our friendship was hanging by a thread.

The food was supposed to be interesting but poorly executed. If I were a judge on Top Chef, I would say that the flavors weren't balanced and overwhelming in some cases. Sure, a Chai Latte sauce sounds good, but drowning your pancakes in it isn't too appetizing. I love duck as much as the next guy, but duck sausage for breakfast is a bit much. Nothing is simple, everything is exhaustingly complicated. I think it's a case of the menu being in love with itself more than anything else.

Also, on the menu it said something to the effect of "if you're looking to build-your-own-omelette, you should go to somewhere that has 'golden' or 'nugget' in its name." Haughty much? Trust me, I've been to the Golden Nugget many times and their service, attitude and my omelette was better than Orange's Omelette #4. What's that? Omelette #4? I looked for #1 to #3 but apparently the chef is a math retard and doesn't know how to count as it was missing from the menu. I know, I know, there is no Chanel No. 1 to 4 either, but this is brunch, not a perfume campaign ad.

I know that I'm just a stupid blogger, and I don't usually write restaurant rants in my blog--after all, I'm a crazed food-schizo, but as we were leaving, my friend Annie said to me, "I'm saying goodbye to this place because it's the last time I'm coming here." The rest of us agreed, which is really unusual, because we all came to this conclusion separately. So, I guess this is it, this is a one-brunch stand.

I feel dirty. Dirtier than Paris Hilton with a hamburger in her mouth.

I think that I will just stick where I know I will get a great brunch: Kitsch'n which is literally right next door with its friendly atmosphere and fun food, run by my chef-crush Jon Young, who is always down-to-earth and approachable. Plus, they will make your omelette just the way you like it. Word.


How Does It Work? - A brunch conversation about those mysterious artifacts called 'tampons.'

Finders Keepers - A near brunch catfight averted.

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