Sunday Lunch

Since today was Victor's last day in town, I thought it would be fun for the six of us to go to brunch before he flies out tonight. 

"I was thinking of making reservations at the Carlyle," I mentioned to Treat the other day. Our family has been going for brunch there since both Treat and Victor were born, usually with one of their grandparents when they were living.

He got a bit of a dreamy smile and a faraway look in his eye. "I haven't been there in ages," he said nostalgically.

I texted the rest of the group a little while later to see if  11 a.m. was a good time. "The restaurant of brunch!" Emily replied, using the name the boys did when they were small.

Our party was in good spirits as we climbed the grand staircase to be seated. "Are you going to have the Squibnocket scramble?" Emily asked. "With the smoked trout?"

"Maybe they'll give us our usual table," I joked, and sure enough, the hostess led us to a round table by the windows, where we had eaten many times. But when we examined the menus that she gave us, we were confused. There was no brunch listed.

When the server approached our table, we had questions. "No, we don't serve brunch," she told us, and the expression on her face suggested that they hadn't for quite some time. "We do have some brunch specials," she added, "steak and eggs benedict or salmon with eggs, but that's all for brunch."

"Not even any beignets?" Emily inquired wistfully, but our waiter shook her head firmly and asked for our drink order.

The meal was very good; the company and the conversation were great, and we had a nice time. In the end, we agreed that we had nothing to complain about.

Except it wasn't brunch.