Update: Mom and I went to Brunch on Sunday (not Mass…we sat in our PJs, drank coffee and talked all morning instead) and I feel pleased to admit that I finally found a decent, even good, brunch place in my city.
I’ve long been jealous of NYC for their fabulous little breakfast joints (Barking Dog & Good Enough to Eat from personal experience). Boston overall just doesn’t compare.
But on Sunday, Mom and I went to Grafton Street, and while they didn’t boast any strawberry butter and biscuits, I was quite satisfied and will definitely be returning.
I devoured their veggie benedict, with grilled avocado and a current obsession of mine, the delicious hollandaise sauce (most learn to make), and Mom dug into her buttermilk pancakes coated with honey-vanilla butter and real maple syrup. Even the orange juice was lovely.
And I was correct; a solid brunch also led to fantastic conversation with Mom. I vented and expressed my worries, which are many; wonderment’s if I’m doing the right thing, with my job, living situation, relationships and more. Worries for the future, near and far. Dynamics among family and friends. And we didn’t solve all of these worries, if you can even really solve them at all. But we talked, and we ate, and we talked and ate some more. And I felt better. Sometimes you don’t need solutions, you just need to talk it out.
If only we could do this more often. Every week would be perfect.
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