Brunch is such an elegant tradition for a Sunday.
In Canada we would drive to Kananaskis where there would be light snow falling, a roaring fire in a world class hotel, a man in a tux and tails playing the grand piano, white linen table cloths, decadent seating and a sumptuous feast of everything breakfast and seafood and desserts and all you could imagine .. served with champagne of course. We would sit and look out at the winter wonderland and take hours to just relax and enjoy..... and then you couldn't move because you ate wayyyy to much.
another picture here...
Here in Australia it is train smash on a barbie - throw in a few snags, never too early for beer and swat away the flies .....
At least it beats child rearing days when breakfast was whatever cereal you could sweep up off the floor and the dried bread someone left out overnight with some jam spread on it. (cause the toaster had been used to launch Transformers and one of them was still stuck in there)
Or breakfast at the farm the morning after the kegger when the grandfather suspected but said nothing .... tons of stodgy oatmeal - thicker than normal, runny eggs, the greasiest bacon ever, 2 pieces of toast with tons of butter and an extra large glass of milk ... sort of warm .... nothing makes you swear off drinking like those breakfasts ....
I am happy with just coffee thank you ...
SKIN: Bare Sensual
HAT: Couture Chapeau
DRESS: House of Hucci
NECKLACE: Purple Moon
RING: Sangre Noir
JACKET: Sangre Noir