Sacrificial Brunch

Holmes had e-mailed me a few days ago with an invitation to brunch.

Actually, he'd gotten an invitation to the 2300 Club from a friend and scrawled at the bottom was a note. "Hope you can come. Please bring your female friend, too!"

Since the last time I was out with Holmes and his squeeze we had met the guy doing the brunch inviting, he presumed that I was the female friend being invited by proxy.

"Are you leading the lamb to the slaughter?" I responded.

Given his reply, we decided to forgo the 2300 Club but meet for brunch anyway.

I wanted chicken and waffles but he wasn't interested in either of the places I knew have it so we settled on Selba.

Since it was their first time there and Holmes is a musician, I knew they'd enjoy the live piano music.

Since they're both Bloody Mary lovers, I knew they'd appreciate the fact that they make their own tomato and celery juice base (we watched).

Because I don't do Bloody Marys, I had a Bellini made all the better for the addition of St. Germaine to the white peach puree and bubbles.

The floral notes it added were a lovely addition to a traditional brunch sipper.

As a bonus for Holmes, the two (annoying) TV screens had football, NACAR and baseball on at various times.

Luckily there was a talented man playing piano for the females to be entertainment by.

The bartender provided one menu and said that if we were greedy and needed one each, he could accommodate. We made do.

Nothing on the brunch menu was calling my name except the house-cured bacon and the Sausagecraft sage patties and they were out of those.

Nothing, that is, until our server (one of two I knew moonlighting from their usual restaurants) said that today's special was, wait for it, chicken and waffles!

I got so excited that she looked at Holmes and said, "Well, I guess we know what she's having."

Holmes had Fontina-laced eggs with Sausagecraft Iberian Chorizo sausage and a bacon cheddar muffin and his love had an omelet with the house bacon on the side.

Meanwhile I was in heaven with my (only quibble: boneless) fried chicken and Belgian waffle.

I used every ounce of whipped homestead butter they brought me to fill the deep wells of my waffle and then drowned the whole thing in real maple syrup.

I lost track of whatever they were talking about while I gave in to a sweet/salty eating frenzy of crispy chicken and crispy waffle.

When I came up for air, it was to enjoy a few bites of the Chorizo and the bacon, both stellar.

Because it's a big place, it wasn't anywhere close to full although the Garden Room had a good crowd.

I saw the Chef and the Mrs. from Bobette, a local theater critic I know (so many new openings to discuss) and a musician I'd sat next to at the Ballet Russes lecture the other day.

And unexpectedly and happily, I got my chicken and waffles.

Without, it should be noted, being led to the slaughter.