It comes with a slice of canteloupe at the end...

Brunch and I have had a long and rocky relationship. As is common with many such relationships, the root of our problems has been differences in expectations and a failure to properly communicate about them. Its easy to see where problems may arise. The very name of the meal, "brunch", leaves too much open to interpretation, both in terms of quantity and composition. Is it supposed to be half breakfast and half lunch? Maybe its actually a full breakfast and full lunch served together. Or is it simply a meal served at a time too early for one and too late for the other, irregardless of its makeup?

I have a vague memory of what I think was my first "Brunch", which involves my grandparents, white folded napkins and orange slices. Besides that no details stand out, but for some reason this image is implanted in my memory. It was a brief flirtation.

Brunch and I really took off as a pair during my preteen and teenage years. "Brunch" became synonymous with "buffet". But not just any buffet. A sort of hybrid super buffet, made by putting a breakfast buffet and a lunch buffet together. And not one of those lame continental breakfast buffets either, this was the real deal. Hot items. Omelettes! Waffles! MEAT! BACON!!! Sometimes several kinds of bacon! And the lunch buffet often included bonuses like carved Prime Rib and all the fresh seafood you could shovel onto your plate without losing your dignity. More than one fine hotel has had their seafood brunch buffet depleted of shrimp by my efforts. And the El Torrito Sunday Brunch became a favorite of mine, combining the finest in gringo breakfast with the lunch comida de Mexico. Excellente!

Add to this culinary treasure trove the fact that Brunch was usually served as the only meal of the day prior to dinner, giving you license to indulge and literally eat two meals worth of food in one sitting. Plus Brunch was usually used to mark a special occasion, giving you even more excuse to pig out. Times were good, and Brunch and I were a happy pair.

Then suddenly and without warning, Brunch changed. Drastically and not for the better. I still remember the event: A get together at the Cheesecake Factory. Normally I enjoy TCF, and when I was told that we'd be attending brunch there the anticipation was palatable. My imagination went wild with the assortment of wonderful treats this buffet was bound to offer up. And then my hopes were dashed with the cold reality of being handed a menu. A menu with bland, uninteresting breakfast fare on it. It was 11:30 in the morning, and I was being asked to pick between assorted unsatisfying egg based dishes. No carved Prime Rib. No mountains of fresh shrimp. Just one plate and whatever came on it. Under normal circumstances the meal would have been fine, but the problem of failed expectations soured the experience. I've never had a cheating lover (that I know of), but if the discovery of infidelity feels anything like that I hope I never do. Brunch and I were in the midst of a full blown spat, and for a time I doubted the rift would ever be healed. Certainly our relationship hasn't been the same since.

Since moving to New York, my idea of what brunch really is has been shifted dramatically. Here, brunch is a weekend meal served from around 10 to 4. Usually it comes prix fix with a choice of beverage included. Standard fare include omelets, hash, salads and burgers. Prices can vary greatly, from the best value available at a fine restaurant to an overpriced breakfast. You really can't avoid it if you are seeking a non-dinner meal at most sit down restaurants. As such, I've gradually let down my guard and welcomed Brunch back into my life. Slowly but surely we've become reacquainted and my trust has been restored.

After all this, Brunch and I have come to an understanding. We'll never be as close as we once were, but with proper planning and tempering of expectations on my part, we've gotten along recently. I'm resigned to only brunch at places where I pre-approve the menu options, and I save the giddy thrill of high expectations for those truly special brunches where I know the champagne will flow, the shellfish remains will be piled high, and there's silver serving trays far as the eye can see.