Before we delve into a record-breaking brunch, it’s important to point out that I did follow through on my agreement from Winter Formal. Max brought in a bag full of clothes for my roommate and I to wear all week, and while we graciously declined the khaki pants, Max Week (a full week of dressing & acting like Max) was a huge success.
Shortly after Max week, I was invited over for Sunday brunch by some great friends, Ludo & Svet.
We started at 1pm at their apartment for Champagne, olives, prosciutto, olive tapenades, and fresh twisty flutes of chorizo bread. Around 3 or 4pm, we had a delicious, perfectly cooked roasted chicken with a special potato recipe by Ludo – thinly sliced potatoes covered in cream with prosciutto, a tomato & tabouli salad, and bien sur, a cheese course.
Any time you are invited by a half Italian/half French person to dine, always always accept. My biggest regret, in life, is not taking any pictures of this glorious bounty.
I thought surely our brunch was coming to an end, but it continued into more chatting and somehow evolved to squeezing into the tiny, almost non-existent backseat of Ludo’s sports car around 7pm for a trip to Le Fouquet’s Lucien on the Champs Elysee for a drink and snacks (round 3?).
We could barely fit our legs in back there, but we managed just fine.
Incidentally, this 2013 brunch turned dinner was when I first met Raphaele, who is now an absolute favorite friend of mine. We bonded instantly over our common love for eating all things, all the time, always.
Suddenly, while enjoying our cocktails and bites, a 9pm dinner reservations were being made for Terroir Parisien. A progressive brunch indeed.
How about that mushroom ice cream.
We ran into a chef that Ludo & Nicolas knew, so he and his wife joined the table for dinner half way through. Then of course, with new friends in tow, it was suggested that we return once again to Fouquet’s, where a new set of dessert snacks were served, and where Ludo found himself a nice new hat outside.
All that to say…When you get invited to brunch by a French Italian, just be ready to leave in the morning, eat for 14 hours straight, and return in the wee hours of the evening when the Eiffel Tower has gone dark and most of Paris is asleep.
Passing the darkened Tower in my cab on the way home. Good brunch.
