The best thing about brunch is that it's leisurely. You can sleep in, be dangerously hungover, be latex-clad after a massive ride or would just rather have someone else serve you a tasty fry-up. No matter what state you're in when you finally reach your destination to break your fast, it will always be on an empty stomach. So here enters my gripe. Like a bear, I become increasingly grizzly when time stretches between meals. So when the time to receive a menu after being seated feels like the amount of time it takes for three other tables to be seated, watered and menued; roaring more aptly replaces the feeling of grizzly.
I don't think I've heard the words "just one second, guys" repeated so frequently in one sitting. Once we received our menus, chosen what we wanted, we promptly shut them to indicate we were more than ready to devour pretty much the entire menu. A good ten minutes, and three, "just one second, guys'" later, we ordered. By this stage, I could barely hold a conversation over the ferocious grumblings of my stomach, yet alone concentrate on sipping on what was the most watery tasting orange juice.
The snail-paced, unfriendly, abrupt and just plain rude service was unfortunately not compensated by a delicious meal. Simple raisin toast was unbuttered, causing the diner to butter their own luke-warm toast. No salty-buttery, cinnamon-raisin explosion of a tastebud party here. The slightly over-cooked poached eggs looked like they had been poured straight out of the pan, as they slid around the plate in a pool of water. The bacon...well it just looked like ham; not at all crispy.
Not once did the wait staff check on us, nor the other diners around us, and two more "just one second, guys'" later, we had our plates cleared and bill on the table. With a grand total of five one seconds', this was one very prickly grizzly bear. read more