Brunch is cursed

I don’t do brunch. It’s either breakfast or it’s lunch, there’s no flexibility to straddle in no man’s land. But colleagues organised a weekend brunch to catchup, so I had to trek all the way to Pott’s Point (which brings me to another point, that’s a whole lot of effort for the first meal of the day, normally I can’t wait to get something in my stomach once I arise from slumber). Today’s brunch gave me another reason, and another strong one at that, to completely veto/never again do brunch. Along the way I dropped my most beloved and favourite glove. It’s made of a soft buttery leather, and its beautiful, girly style has drawn many compliments. Its loss has thus left me heartbroken and put me in such a rotten mood that I wasn’t sure whether I could be anything but a grouch at brunch. However the conversation diverted my attention, and I enjoyed the food and company, although I’m still sad with the knowledge it will be a long time/never before a replacement glove of equal status can be found.

Today we ate at Cafe Dov at Potts Point. It was a tossed up between the corn fritter which is a regular fixture on their menu and the brocolli fritter which was a blackboard special.

The corn fritters with poached egg, spinach and spicy tomato relish had great flavours, but I wish it was cripsy on the outside.
The grilled chorizo, pear and poached egg on sourdough was a blackboard special. Don’t the pears look like potatos?
French toast
The chai was from T2, I was surprised how such a miniscule amount of tea produced such a strong brew.

So ultimately the food was good and the company enjoyable, but I don’t think brunch is a terrain I shall explore ever again.

cafΓ© DOV on Urbanspoon


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