An ode to Brooklyn Girl brunch

Brunch. Breakfast + lunch. This simple portmanteau fills me with a mixture of joy and dread. In many ways it's the perfect meal: transitioning seamlessly between savory and sweet dishes; adeptly served by either coffee or alcohol, and preferably both. It's a first meal of the day, but one taken slowly, patiently. You don't even have to set an alarm for. In fact, all the better if you sleep late.

So what's the problem? Crowds. Everybody wants a piece of this ideal meal, and all the decent brunch spots in town profess a half hour or more wait. Well over an hour on Sunday.

So the idea of going to Brooklyn Girl for Sunday brunch, while tempting as hell, filled me with dread. Would I be stranded on a sidewalk in Mission Hills, getting too much sun, nursing a growling belly and a growing need for caffeine, without booze to dull the edge of my need? Glaring at those waiting ahead of me, silently ruing those lingering at their tables enjoying pleasant, satisfied conversations I longed to be having? Finish your food and get out, people.

However, when friends call and say, "Hey, we're about to get a table! How fast can you make it?" the answer turns out to be: pretty damn fast.

I'd never visited the increasingly popular eatery, which never seems to receive a bad review, either for quality or service. But I've been wanting to.

So with fifteen minutes' notice I found myself seated with coffee, water and mimosa, ordering a fried chicken and biscuit. How could this not end well?

My friends each opted for the special that day, a lamb pot pie they all delighted in. I tasted it, and they're not wrong. It's delicious.

But they couldn't hide the envy on their faces when my dish arrived. Poached eggs stacked high on flaky biscuits with crispy golden chicken, smothered with sausage gravy and, as the menu suggested, love. 15 bucks might seem steep for a meal like this, but I have no complaints with the way it turned out.

As presentation goes, you're not likely to find anything comparable involving eggs and chicken, at least without getting waffles involved. To be honest, though, biscuits like these just taste better. And the chicken seasoning was good enough that I almost lamented the gravy. Almost. Actually, I ate spoonfuls of it to wash down the mimosa.

I wasn't much for conversation once this architectural feast arrived. With a mouth full of food and multiple beverages to tend to, I let my friends discuss whatever it is they were on about — probably the pot pie — while I happily stuffed my face.

You just can't stay away from a brunch like this; only apply some sunscreen, bring your own coffee and hold down your spot on the sidewalk, maybe pass the time wondering what Sunday dinner will bring.