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Brunch in the big city can be a dreadful bore. A mishmash of warmed-up food served at prime time Sunday is often used as a convenient way of reciprocating to those good people who have previously wined and dined you in generous fashion.
Perhaps these social butterflies feel you don't rate a decent dinner, or that they can't be bothered to prepare one.  Lunch is too much fuss and might spoil part of their afternoon.  And,  breakfast is out of the question because they sleep right through that. That leaves something between breakfast and lunch which is served at lunchtime, or later, and ruins the day for those who live normal lives and have plenty to do.
Brunch is a Sunday social where it seems fashionable to arrive late. The gentle folk somehow get there half asleep, bleary-eyed and fairly shimmering under a cloud of strong perfume, toothpaste and toilet water.
Brunch, a combination of breakfast and lunch, gained popularity in the late 19th century in England. It was initially embraced by the wealthy as a leisurely meal typically enjoyed on Sundays after attending church services.
If it's a garden brunch the kaleidoscope of cheap perfumes, hair sprays and aftershave lotions will ward off both birds and bugs. If it's an indoor brunch the hodgepodge of potent colognes and tobacco smoke will assassinate one's culinary senses to where coffee, wine and curried eggs all taste like hospital disinfectant.
Eggs are de rigeur at brunches, it's required by law - curried eggs, no less. Everyone who gives brunches has a hand-me-down recipe for curried eggs. It doesn't matter how they’re cooked; the result is a dubious-looking dish of yellow gunge that mocks the laws of alchemy. This fusion of violent spices upon an empty stomach is a recipe for instant gas and lots of it. Curried egg making should be a criminal offence.
Noon is a time for more substantial foods like chunks of beef, pork, sausage, and even chicken. Those industrious souls who vacate their cots in the morning have already eaten their eggs - at breakfast time - when eggs should be eaten.
Cheap sparkling wine is freely mixed with ghastly orange juice concentrate. 

This swill brings out the worst in both juice and plonk. But, arriving guests,  still dizzy from their nocturnal repose care not. Petrol and Perrier might serve such dullards. In small groups they stand blinking and nodding to each other in mindless chatter about the weather, or nothing at all.
The first sign of affirmative action is when the plonk and orange juice becomes the supercharged laxative that it really is and painful bloat has them bidding farewell. Vodka and orange does the same.
Booze is the bruncher's nemesis. It sorts out the men from the boys, so to speak. It identifies the professional brunchgoers from the social butterflies who come and go amidst the pettifoggery of animated hellos,  goodbyes and we really must get together soon. Sincerity is socially taboo at brunches.

The sun is barely over the yard-arm when the novices, who sport silly, red-faced grins, give up and go home. But, not before barfing on the back lawn, or in the cactus pot where it remains a secret until Wednesday. The moderates last until late afternoon when they become somewhat incoherent and burn holes in the carpet with their cigarettes and stain the sofa with lousy red wine.
The professionals, however, remain steadfast in their resolve to party forever, and with cast-iron constitution gorge on curried eggs and methodically work both food table and fridge in search of prawns, peanut butter and nothing in particular.
By 7:pm. the hosts peg out, the place is a mess and all the food is gone, even soggy salad and those greasy meatballs are missing. Those who must work the next day have long since departed with acute colic. But, the indestructible diehards gain a second-wind and sing silly songs in fractured tune.
The hour is late, too late, when the hosts are awakened by their own door bell and witness the arrival of a large, all-dressed pizza. Enough is enough and hospitality is withdrawn as the intransigents wash down the pizza with a bottle of rare wine and pricey Cognac found in the host’s wine cabinet out in the garage. To the tune of, "for God's sake go home to bed", sung in shrill duet by the hosts, the merrymakers wobble down the driveway avowing  gratitude and reciprocation for bounties received. At the top of their drunken voices, of course. And thus, the social debt is paid in brunch.

Choose your guests carefully and try this easy but expensive salmon dish at your next brunch. If the salmon is too much of a financial stress, resort to curried blood eggs.
Salmon Steaks
serves 6 
6 salmon steaks 
6 slices bacon 
fresh ground pepper 
lemon wedges 
Spread a little butter over the steaks. Sprinkle bacon with lots of freshly ground pepper, wrap around the width of the salmon and secure with a toothpick. The salmon can be pan fried, broiled, or grilled on the barbecue. Cook the salmon quickly. Don't overcook or it will be dry and dreadful. Serve with lemon wedges. Some nice scrambled eggs on black bread can be served on the side.

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