cinq-oh-wonderful-brunch

As a rule, or a playful riff on an older blog post (for any of my old readers still loyal enough to follow... hi mom), I truly cannot stand the idea of brunch. Typically, my argument states that "brunch" is pretentious both in name and concept. Something about having to invent an entirely new word to describe the every day act (or every Sunday act) of eating, is a touch obnoxious. Made up words - like Brangelina, sexting and synergy - grind my gears. So why should brunch be any different? Breakfast + Lunch = TOO MUCH FOOD. Pick a meal, and eat it. However, despite the angry way the word rolls off my tongue, I have to say that I tasted a late-morning meal sweet enough to to soften my hate-on for this ridiculous social phenomena.

Yes, brunch, to me, is all together flamboyant. Choice word. So, contrary it might seem to say that the best morning binge to be had in Toronto is at Cinq 01. I've been there three times, and all three times I have spotted someone of Shinan-Govani-certified importance. One time, Paul Shaffer sat at the bar, snacking and chatting with a pal of equally naked noggin, and another time FT's Jeanne Beker relaxed at a quiet table for four, gracefully evading the pointing fingers and peeking eyes of neighbouring diners. The third time I spotted my boyfriend's ex. The most thrilling encounter of all, arguably. (I doubt Shinan would care about that, but we can pretend she's Ainsley Kerr for the sake of the story.)

However, this weekend, upon personal invitation, we ventured to College St. to sample the restaurant's first ever "brunch" selection. Although the menu had more options than there were diners to enjoy them (10 AM is an hour that some brunchers might consider too breakfasty), the server assured us that nothing on the list would disappoint. He had the Eggs Benedict, dripping with some of the richest, creamiest, rub-it-all-over-my-body hollandaise sauce, loosley layered meats piled to perfection, served with home fries, crispy and well seasoned, and served scarcely. I had the Eggs Toufik, named for the the restaurants homme de l'heure, the owner Toufik Sarwa. He's also the mastermind behind Amber in Yorkville. (See: haven to handsome, rich Jewish guys, and the models who will sleep with them, hipster types who haven't fully committed, bankers, babes and bodacious bartenders. A symphony of well dressed people, with an ear for music, and deep pockets for tipping.)

Naturally, with a name like Eggs Toufiq, I assumed that my meal would be saucy, lean, middle-eastern, and would somehow incorporate something leather, binding and faaabulous. However, presented before me was a well-plated, Mexican inspired medley, complete with the softest, freshest tortillas since Cabo, sunny-side-up eggs cooked to gooey, not-too-runny, melt-in-your-mouth perfection, and a citrus splashed guacamole that immediately won my heart. Maybe the best guacamole I've had. Ever. And I've eaten my fair share of guac. Each bite was laced with cilantro, while one or two hearty, slow cooked beans snuck their way into the perfectly palatable mess. My juice was served ice cold, and not at all too sweet, and my americano was just like I love it, strong and black. Next time, if we're on foot rather than in helmets, I'd love to try one of their signature sunrise cocktails.

Next time.... Because there will certainly be one of those. Cinq 01's morning bounty has got this naysayer saying more, more, more.

So, before riding off, satisfied on all accounts, and not at all for the last time, we sent Mr. Eggs Toufiq a text:

"Brunch was great, thanks."

Less than a minute later, his reply:

"Tell your friends."

We'll do him one better. We'll invite them next weekend.