Wave to brunch, Maggie!

I love brunch. I really do. I think that brunch has become, hands down, my favourite meal. Instead of having brunch this weekend I read James Chatto's article in Toronto Life on the subject.

Egg Hunt

It's great fun because it gives you the dirt on some local brunch hot spots and also, Chatto really captures the "culture of brunch". I know, I know, "the culture of brunch" - you think I'm crazy. But if you think about it, you can define the major stages of your life based on the kind of brunching your doing. You know it's true. You know I'm right. The other thing I know is that once you read this article you'll be craving Eggs Benedict. Don't panic, that's completely normal. If you're like me, when you think of Eggs Benedict your mind turns to the classic Woody Allen stand up bit of the same name long enough to distract you from your hunger. Delicious.

Courtesy of Woody Allen, stand up comic:

I had once a pain in the chestal area. Now, I was sure it was heartburn, y'know, 'cause at that time I was married and my wife cooking with her nazi recipies, y'know, chicken Himmler. I didn't wanna pay twentyfive bucks to have it reaffirmed by some medic, that I had heartburn. But I was worried 'cause it was in the chestal area. Then it turns out my friend, Eggs Benedict, has a pain in his chestal area, in the same exact spot. I figured if I could get Eggs to go to the doctor, I could figure out what was wrong with me, at no charge, so I con Eggs. He goes. Turns out he's got heartburn. Cost him twentyfive dollars, and I feel great, 'cause I figured I beat the medic out of twentyfive big ones, y'know. Called up Eggs two days later - he died. I check into a hospital immediately, have a battery of test run and x-rays. Turns out I got heartburn. Cost me a hundred and ten dollars. Now I'm furious. I run to Eggs' mother, and I say: "Did he suffer much?" And she said: "No, it was quick. Car hit him and that was it."