We were invited out to brunch at the last minute, and since our friends had been out dancing the night before and I had already been up and gone long-distance running, I was ready to feel superior and condescending. There was no need: Everyone was quite alert and prepared with witty retorts. The nations represented at our table were Brazil, Argentina, Peru, Germany, Japan, Georgia (the country), and the good old United States by way of my ancestors in Alsace. I’ll get back to you when I’ve written the joke. We went to a restaurant called the Peacock Cafe next to the Cafe Milano in Georgetown, the latter of which is known more for its celebrity sightings than its food, or at least it used to be known for the former and now it’s possibly known for neither. I ordered a mango-banana smoothie. It isn’t often that we go out for a fancy American brunch in the city; usually, if we go out for breakfast, it’s either phở, dim sum, or diner food for us, but if we do go to a place that serves mimosas I always end up ordering French toast. They had a strawberry syrup with a dominant taste of balsamic vinegar, which made it taste like a French toast salad, and I’m not complaining about that.
(Photo: Rooftop panorama from 14th Street, Washington, D.C.)
365 Days of Food 