There is nothing better than brunch on Sundays.
Sleep in till you can’t sleep any more…no alarm. Throw on a soft cotton tee and jeans, an easy dress if the weather permits, and some flats. Sunglasses and scarf drapes with the yearnings of weekend freedom, lazily wander down the street to one of the endless cafes, restos, and brunch joints in the city. If you can get a table on the patio on a sunny day – absolute bliss.
Toronto is probably the best place I’ve visited for brunch. Torontonians are passionate about it. There are lists after lists of the best brunch places in town, and the perpetual arguments over which ones come out on top. Nowhere else really cares about the activity to the same degree of fervor. There are also a myriad of choices: upscale for the yuppies, diner chic for the hippies, college street for the hipsters, queen street west for the starving artists, and of course there’s always that neighbourhood mom and pops joint that does it just right, be it homemade banana bread or greasy homefries.
Grab a table in the corner, order a coffee and enjoy the endless refills – the waitress keeps on topping me up so I never know exactly how much liquid gold I’ve had, but it’s the weekend, and for once the caffeine isn’t to keep me awake for work, and I love that.
(by the way, why do people call it a cup of joe? I always wondered.)
Then….somewhere between that second breakfast pocket and the unbelievable potato and yam hashbrowns, it struck you – life is good.