If you happened to read the library’s column a couple of weeks ago, I offer my deepest apologies. When I heard that my colleague wanted to write a column about brunch, I emphatically agreed. I envisioned a love letter of sorts to the best meal there is, an ode to eggs, a tribute to French toast. Instead, I read what can only be described as the ravings of a lunatic, nearly 400 words attempting to discredit the most iconic pairing since Lucy and Ricky. Or perhaps, since peanut butter and jelly (which I also adore).
I believe said colleague referred to brunch as “a glorified breakfast with alcohol.” As though this is a BAD thing? With brunch, all things are possible! Have a hankering for chicken with your waffles, or eggs shaped like a pie? You’ve…
