Mother’s Day Brunch

The competitive streak comes from my father. And that side of me looks back at last year’s Mother’s Day post and trembles in fear, because it was a damn great post. Sure, I got some of the details wrong. Like, for example, many of the dishes weren’t my mother’s but my paternal grandmother’s. But still, the sentiment was there.

I attribute the entire right side of my brain to my mom. She is an art educator by training, and sometimes the thing that you do becomes the thing that you are. As a result I had a childhood filled with music and visits to museums.

Now my adulthood is filled with guilt for not exposing my own children to such enriching activities. Instead they are treated to donut tastings and detailed explanations about artificial ingredients.

But Mother’s Day isn’t about creativity, it’s about brunch.

Regrettably there will be no making Mrs. Fussy breakfast in bed. Instead, she will wake up early on Sunday, as she does every Sunday, trudge downstairs, drink a cup of coffee, eat a bowl of cereal, and copyedit this post before heading off to work. Actually that’s her routine six days a week.

Instead, I’m hoping to interrupt her workday to take her out for lunch with the children. Except this will be an egg lunch, which I think qualifies it as brunch.

There will be no fancy frills. No fine porcelain teacups, no lavish buffets, and no well-heeled waiters. If Mrs. Fussy had her way, we would be headed to Dewey’s. But Dewey’s is closed on Sundays. So I’ll need to get my poached eggs with her elsewhere. I do have an idea about where we should go that shouldn’t be too crowded, even today. It’s still an open question as to whether they’ll be open.

My love of poached eggs is another thing I attribute to my mother.

Maybe like last year, I’m totally wrong. Maybe it wasn’t my mother who would order poached eggs with dry wheat toast and marmalade at every little greasy spoon breakfast joint. Certainly she has expanded her breakfast selections in later years. But that’s the funny thing about memory. Regardless of whether it’s true, it’s true in my mind.

Way back in August she treated me to a lovely breakfast at one of her favorite restaurants in Providence, Rhode Island. It’s called Nick’s on Broadway, and they served me one of the most impressive looking poached eggs I’ve ever seen. And even though photographs are unheard of here at the FLB, on this special occasion, I’ll make an exception.

Do you notice how the yolk is encased in the white? And how the white set clearly in the midst of fluid movement? The form of the egg in addition to its edges and ripples has never ceased to amaze me. And I have to wonder, if I were never exposed to things like form, line, color and composition as a kid, would I even care?

It would be wonderful to be able to take mom out to breakfast or brunch today, but hopefully she’ll take a rain check and be satisfied for the moment with memories of breakfasts past.

Later today I’ll call Nana S. and Nana E. who have both been influential in their own ways. And perhaps on Facebook I can reach out to some of the other moms who had a hand in turning me into the person I am today.

I love all the moms in my life. Thank you for everything. I should be showering you with exotic spices from the four corners of the earth, or something equally lavish that would be more meaningful to you. But I’ve got nothing. Just a sincere expression of my feelings of love and gratitude for everything you’ve done, and continue to do for me, in more ways than are imaginable. I love you. Happy Mother’s Day.