Brunch is my favorite meal. When I lived in New York, one of my favorite ways to spend a Sunday was to crawl out of bed at 11:00 am and then meet a friend for Eggs Benedict and mimosas. Every fresh infusion of champagne, coffee and carbs would trigger a new flashback and by the end of the meal, we'd successfully piece together the events (and sins) of the night before and determine whether or not a good time was had.
Other times, I would go it alone, nursing my hangover with bacon, Belgian waffles and the Sunday Times. This had the additional advantage of making me look smarter than I really am, because all my alcohol-addled brain could ever handle at that point was the oh-so-foofy-but-shamefully addictive Vows section.
