By: Becca

There was a table set out in the back of a restaurant just south of the Circle, and Tammy the March Hare and Becca the Hatter were having brunch at it. A Dormouse, Christina, was sitting between them, fast asleep from hangover, and the other two were using her as a cushion, resting their elbows on her, and talking over her head.

‘Very uncomfortable for the Dormouse,’ thought Alice, err, Alex; ‘only, as it’s asleep, I suppose it doesn’t mind.’

The table was a large one, but the three were all crowded together at one corner of it: ‘No room! No room!’ they cried out when they saw Alex coming. ‘There’s PLENTY of room!’ said Alex indignantly, and he sat down in a large arm-chair at one end of the table.

‘Have some mimosas,’ Tammy the March Hare said in an encouraging tone.

Alex looked all round the table, but there was nothing on it but coffee. ‘I don’t see any mimosas,’ he remarked.

‘There isn’t any,’ said the March Hare.

‘Then it wasn’t very civil of you to offer it,’ said Alex angrily.

‘It wasn’t very civil of you to sit down without being invited,’ said the March Hare.

‘I didn’t know it was YOUR table,’ said Alex; ‘we’re here to talk about Uber.’

‘Your hair wants cutting,’ said Becca the Hatter. She had been looking at Alex for some time with great curiosity, and this was her first speech.

‘You should learn not to make personal remarks,’ Alex said with some severity; ‘it’s very rude.’

The Hatter opened her eyes very wide on hearing this; but all she said was, `Why is a raven like a writing-desk?’

… Poor Alex Priest. He had fallen down the rabbit hole that is a bottomless brunch with the Bitches. And, after four hours of brunching, this Mad Tea Party was definitely more Lewis Carroll than Disney.

We were also joined by Emil, who we’ll call the King (Queen) of Hearts, and Scott, who was our quiet but wise Cheshire Cat that day. And when this very odd collection of six Twitter friends gathered, we all collectively thought, ‘Well, this is what this place looks like in daylight,’ and compared our Madhatter happy hour experiences.

There’s a room in the back that’s made especially for a large mad brunch, with a long table in the center and a table on the ceiling. All the pictures are upside down. Wait, wait. The table you’re sitting at is on the ceiling. This is Wonderland, after all.

We were all starved when we arrived, and so before we even started the waterfall of mimosas, we ordered the item on the menu that was haughtily calling the most attention. That is, The Best Donut Ever. We ordered it to share, though this dish is probably not meant for sharing, being listed as a “sandwich” and falling to pieces once you cut into it.

We were slightly disappointed when it was presented because we were under the impression that it was going to be infused with its promised ingredients: scrambled eggs, sausage and cheese. Instead, it was a donut (and no Krispy Kreme—c’mon, it’s right across the street), cut in half, with those things piled inside.

Ah, well. We continued on Alice’s journey through Wonderland.

As Becca the Hatter is calling the shots, we went for the bottomless mimosas. At the bar, servers were pouring cartons of orange juice and bottles of Andre champagne into enormous plastic tubs, which was then transferred into carafes, which were then distributed to tables.

Yes, we said Andre (strike one) and yes, we said whole cartons of orange juice (strike two). We absconded with a carafe of champagne to reduce the ratio of juice-to-champagne in the beverages. But, you can’t beat $10 for bottomless.

Awoken from her hangover, our Dormouse, Christina, went to the bloody Mary bar, which was quite amazing—a wall of hot sauces and accouterments. She came back with a thick concoction with an asparagus sticking out. It served her hangover well.

Right after our first carafes of mimosas arrived, a basket of piping hot pastry balls was dropped on the table. Steam rose up as soon as you broke them open, and we dropped in slices of orange-blossom butter that immediately melted inside. It was delicious, gooey pastry inside, and a glazed crust on the outside. Wonderful little balls, indeed.

Alice, or Alex, had the Eggs Benedict and practically licked his plate. The two big poached eggs were served on thin slices of ham, folded over, on English muffins, with home fries on the side. The home fries were nothing special. So the March Hare ordered a basket of French fries to share with the table. They were served with three sauces: honey mustard, barbecue, and ketchup. We had to ask for it five times, but it was worth it in the end.

Our waitress had clearly just stepped into her own special Wonderland. She was rather excited and strange, though attentive to our needs for the most part. We asked her to tell us about the omelets, and her eyes opened wide with, “Ohh it’s an interactive omelet EXPERIENCE!” Her eagerness prompted the March Hare and Cheshire Cat (Tammy and Scott) to make their way through Wonderland and see for themselves.

It was, indeed, a magical experience; beginning with the mystical Staples-brand raffle ticket you’re expected to deliver to the happy chef at the station. Normally, omelet station guys are generally pretty grumpy. Think about it—they have to stand there all day and take people’s orders. The only exciting part of the job is the wacky permutations of omelets that people prefer. This guy, said the pair, was super friendly, and seemed to multitask both the omelet griddle and the Belgian waffle maker with speed.

For the Hatter, the Hangover Helper, which turned out to be rather gross—for lack of a better term. It was a big plate with various breakfast bits all slopped into one. The mess included biscuits, scrambled eggs, home fries, shredded cheddar cheese and bacon, sausage, or ham. It was topped with sausage gravy and served with a side of toast. I have to concede, however, that along with a stiff bloody Mary, this dish would probably swallow up even the worst of hangovers.

The Dormouse decided upon the breakfast burrito, which was packed with lots of scrambled eggs, sausage, and peppers.

The King of Hearts—Emil—had the French toast, which was three thick slices of Pullman white or raisin bread, dipped in the house vanilla batter, grilled and served with a side of sausage or bacon. He said it was tasty, and it’s a good thing, or else it would be off with their heads! It seems the waitress would live to see another day of painting the roses red.

You could tell the toast had just been made, said our King of Hearts, as you could taste the egg flavor, whereas in some places they’re overdone and covered with maple syrup.

The Mad Hatter’s final note, after my mad ramblings about the food, is that the bathrooms were atrocious. For a restaurant that large, having just one workable stall in a tiny ladies restroom is simply unacceptable.

The Bitches say: B- A good bottomless deal, with average food.

Madhatter
1319 Connecticut Ave. N.W.
Washington, D.C.
(202) 833-1495

By: Cori Sue

I’m a vegetarian (pescetarian, actually), so brunch at a restaurant with a limited, no-fuss, steak-centered menu was tricky for me. Unabashedly carnivorous, Becca had dined at Medium Rare once before—for dinner—and she found it very odd.

There was no menu, just simply, “How do you want your steak cooked?” ‘Medium rare’ seems to be the only acceptable answer at that point, and so the waiter scribbles your request on your paper table cloth and disappears. After a little while, they return with steak, fries, and a mysterious brown sauce in a metal jar.

‘Wouldn’t this get boring?’ she thought after dinner. And, ‘Why would you go back when there’s only one dish to try?’ But the steak is good, the sauce is delicious, and you can’t get enough of the bread. And then, just when you think you’ve cleaned your plate, suddenly another waiter appears at your side with a skillet full of hot steak, pushing it onto your empty plate.

So you begin again, and you continue in this carnivorous fashion as long as you may like. And that’s why you go back.

Brunch, however, was quite different. The menu seems overwhelming when compared to the dinner menu. This might be because the owner contacted us a few months prior for some advice on their then-new brunch menu, and we offered up a few basic tips: give us options, and make it bottomless.

So they reformatted it with a spectacular deal: bread, two courses, and bottomless mimosas, coffee or orange juice for a mere $23. They invited us back to try it out.

The mimosas, the perfect mixture of fresh-squeezed orange juice and excellent champagne, were served promptly, and then promptly refilled, over and over again, as we sat outside on Medium Rare’s patio on a simply gorgeous fall morning.

Along with the mimosas, the first (of many) servings of bread arrived. If anything, I’d dine at Medium Rare for the bread alone. The bread, a high-quality French loaf, is also served at Michel Richard’s Citronelle. With a crispy, crumbly outside with fluffy melt-in-your-mouth inside, it’s served in a tin tray alongside room-temperature butter that we promptly globed on with steak knives. It was positively gluttonous in the best way possible.

For your first course, you may choose fruit or yogurt, and, in the name of blogging, we chose one of each. The cup of fruit was fresh and fine—filled with pineapple, honeydew, grapes and cantaloupe.

The creamy Greek yogurt comes served with granola, dried fruit, and amazing berry preserves. I’m not typically crazy about dried fruit, but this concoction was the perfect mixture of sweet, crunchy, chewy and savory. I enjoyed every bite.

Becca had the “famous” steak Benedict, because, how can you not? It seemed to be the item on the brunch menu commanding the most attention, so she went for it. The Benedict itself was only one-half of the English muffin, but that was alright, as it was overloaded with steak, eggs, and sauce. The restaurant, of course, substitutes its secret steak sauce for the normal hollandaise, and so this Benedict tastes quite different, much less brunch-y, save for that egg on top.

The entire thing gets a little mushy if you let it sit too long. It is filling, however, and you end up sopping up the sauce and runny poached eggs with the muffin, the steak, and eventually with the fries and the bread that came as an appetizer.

I ordered the only vegetarian option on the menu—the French toast, and a side of frites. (Bread, French fries, French toast, mimosas … I’m a beacon for healthy eating.) The French toast is right on par with the heavenly concoction at Granville Moores.

The dish was phenomenal. The chef takes the ends of their infamous French bread and soaks them overnight in their cinnamon-egg-cream concoction, and then they flash fry, rather than bake it, so that it is moist, fluffy and sweet on the inside and crisp on the outside. It’s sprinkled with powdered sugar, topped with fresh berries, and served with a side of real maple syrup.

Instead of being baked into the toast, the Logan sausage that comes with the French toast is served separately on a dish, looking rather sad—but enabling me to give it to Becca. It’s delicious, though, by itself, she says.

The frites were delicious as well, served with Medium Rare’s uber-secret special sauce. Unfortunately for yours truly, I had been dipping them lavishly into said secret sauce throughout brunch with reckless abandon. Near the end of the meal, the waitress, with a look of appall, says, “Miss, you’re a vegetarian? That sauce … isn’t … I’m so sorry.”

“No problem,” I replied. “It’s only my moral convictions, no big deal.”

Her jaw dropped further.

Aside from that little snafu …

The Bitches say: A. High-quality cuisine, gorgeous patio, good service, and a spectacular brunch deal—with more options than dinner. This brunch is a hidden gem.

Brunch is served on Sundays from 11 a.m. to 2:30 p.m.

Medium Rare
3500 Connecticut Ave N.W.
Washington, D.C.
(202) 237-1432

By: Becca

Do you know Stef Woods?  She’s that tall, striking, vivacious red head that you probably keep running into at events about town. I know I did. Repeatedly. To the point where I started to feel like I knew her just from the occasional chat over mediocre hors d’oeuvres.

But we didn’t really know one another at all. And so we kept saying, we simply must get together. So I invited her to brunch.

I suggested Vento on P Street in Dupont because the website touted “Open for Brunch!” and because it is one of the few places on P Street that I haven’t tried. We showed up. It was closed. I was embarrassed. So we wandered around the corner to The Front Page, where Stef said she’s had many a brunch in her day, though I hadn’t actually made it there yet.

Turns out Steph is amazing, and I have a girl crush. A lawyer, she writes about her dating and sex life on City Girl Blogs and teaches at a local university. She also acts as an ambassador (and model) for countless D.C. organizations, such as the Humane Society and its Fashion For Paws event.

Oh, and she’s been battling breast cancer for the last year. Yesterday was her last chemo IV. To celebrate, she’s hosting a happy hour tonight at Lincoln, which you should go to and say congratulations and give her a hug for me. I wish I could go, but I’m in New York this week (sending my hugs from afar!).

Next month, she’ll be a model in Pink Jams Rocks the Runway, which is bringing in Christian Siriano himself to show his spring collection. Have I told you how excited I am for this event? I am really excited. Buy your ticket. Or go to the launch party at Dirty Bar on Tuesday and get tickets there.

That Sunday Stef and I sat on the patio outside The Front Page chatting about these things for hours. We talked about men, about blogs, about work, about cancer, about DC’s events, about people. Like I said: girl crush.

The Front Page is a traditional D.C. brunch place. It’s huge, first of all, so you could fit in a big party at the very last minute. There’s lots of rooms and different bar areas, stretching the width of its city block. Also, it’s been there forever.

For brunch you can order a dish off the menu, which I would suggest, or you can go for the buffet, which we did against our better judgement. We eyed it, we were starved, so we went for immediate satisfaction rather than the smarter idea.

The buffet is lined with silver trays serving greasy sausages, bacon, biscuits, scrambled eggs, home fries, corned beef hash, and grits, all of which looked like they’d been sitting out for a while. There were made to order omelets and waffles, and the omelets offered broccoli, mushrooms, peppers, onions, tomatoes, ham and assorted cheese. The waffles had Maple syrup, fruit toppings, or whipped cream to pile on top.

There was a carving station of pit roasted ham and roast beef. Again, it looked a bit dry, as if it had been sitting under the heat lamps for a while. The fruit selection was similarly aged. There was caesar salad, muffins, danishes, and breakfast pastries. Also, there was some cubed cheese, and a table with bagels and lox, which looked rather frightening.

The entire buffet is $20.95 per person. You can tack on unlimited champagne for $3, unlimited mimosas for $4.50, or Perrier Jouet Grand Brut Champage, for $16.95. Oh, and there was a bloody Mary bar, though it wasn’t very big. Not a bad deal, but you have to take into account that it’s buffet; and with rare exceptions, buffets are never very good.

The trick is to go with someone fabulous who will distract you from the sad state of buffet affairs. Stef and I only went for two rounds at the buffet, and picked at our food when we were back at our patio table. We were too engrossed in conversation to be bothered by the food.

The Bitches say: C. There are much better quality buffets in town, but if you’re desperate for a last-minute large party, give it a whirl, as the price is right.

The Front Page
1333 New Hampshire Ave NW
Washington DC, 20036
202.296.6500

By: Becca

“Baltimore doesn’t brunch,” my boyfriend said to me matter-of-factly in the car. We were on our way to a mid-Sunday-morning meal in south Baltimore that included bottomless mimosas and benedicts. But it wasn’t brunch, of course. Not in Baltimore.

The restaurant was Little Havana, a Cuban inspired joint right on the water in Federal Hill. It looks like a warehouse from the outside, which is fitting, as the place used to be an old car garage, according to my man, who hails from these parts.

Photo credit: Becca Clara Love

Inside, there’s not much effort to displace that first impression. There’s lots of metal and iron work, haphazardly placed tables, and faded Cuban-postcard-style (and slightly phallic) paintings on the walls. The outdoor deck overlooks the water through a chain-link fence. The whole place has an open warehouse feel, but there’s a dining room in the back made for big tables.

Photo credit: Becca Clara Love

No reservations necessary here. It’s laid back, like Baltimore, and I liked it. The place is built for mingling and socializing: everything is centered around a big bar in the middle, which was cranking out pitchers of mimosas and Marys. Oh, and there’s a shuffleboard table, which we played until there was sand under our fingernails.

Let me say this: Only in Baltimore can men make mimosas look manly. I think it’s because they serve them in plastic cups and load the pitchers with ice. Yes, ice. In my mimosas. It seems a crime to me, but it actually made them go down faster. After a few hours, I was sidling up to the bar with two empty pitchers, asking for refills for the poor men I was crushing in shuffleboard.

Photo credit: Becca Clara Love

The bartenders weren’t stingy, either. They were quick and efficient, zipping around their busy bar taking orders. And your food comes out fast. Clearly the kitchen is cranking out the brunch dishes one after the other in anticipation for the next big order. Speaking of which, let me tell you what a deal this was: $16 for bottomless mimosas or Marys and an entrée. We stayed the entire time, from 11 a.m. to 3 p.m. It was an impromptu brunch party.

Photo credit: Becca Clara Love

All the egg entrees come with bacon, cuban toast and a fresh muffin. I had the Huevos Habana, Havana-style baked eggs topped with sofrito (which is basically peppers and onions stewed in a spicy tomato sauce). Totally satisfying. My boyfriend had the crab omelet, or the Tortilla de Cangrejo, which is eggs with crabmeat and sofrito. That was promptly polished off.

Photo credit: Becca Clara Love

But the entrée selection is great: You can get Spanish-style eggs, Cuban scrambled eggs, huevos mixtos, huevos fritos a la Cubana, or even just an egg omelet. There’s tortilla de huevos y queso, and avocado omelet, huevos rancheros, or simply French toast or buttermilk pancakes.

Or if you don’t feel like breakfast, go for the Cuban sandwich, made with ham, pulled pork, dill pickle,  swiss cheese and mustard on Cuban bread with potatoes. Definitely not Tampa-style, but worth a shot. There’s also boring things like hamburgers or chicken sandwiches, for those less adventurous.

Photo credit: Becca Clara Love

Then there’s a selection of desserts, which goes above and beyond the $16 deal, but after a few pitchers you might be tempted. Try the Friturtas de Plantano, plantain fritters dusted with powdered sugar, or the Sopapillas, sweet pastry dough drizzled with chocolate and berry sauces and served with vanilla ice cream. Or just go for the Flan.

The music was loud, the brunching crowd was loud, and so that rowdy bar atmosphere inevitably called for dirty bathrooms. And dirty they were, though after hours of bottomless pitchers you hardly care.

Photo credit: Becca Clara Love

I don’t care what my boyfriend says: No matter what Baltimore residents call it, they’re brunching. And they’re brunching right. I think they’re all just in brunch denial.

The Bitches say: B for Baltimore. A great time and a great deal, even if the food isn’t absolutely amazing and the bathrooms not spik-and-span.

Little Havana
1325 Key Highway
Baltimore, MD 21230
(410) 837-9903

By: Becca

It was about the second week of June that I really started freaking out. I had just gotten over a crazed week of work in Vegas. The week prior, Cori Sue and I had signed our lives away to Ris and promised to donate the rest of our livelihood to DC Farm to School. We had to coordinate more than a dozen sponsorships and organize a fashion show in, oh, 15 days. I was experiencing the onset of event-planning panic.

So, I called Kiara, PR maven, Edelman queen, and woman about town.

“Alright, lady. Take a breath,” she said from across the table at Coppi’s on U Street.

I breathe. Pause. Take a swig of my mimosa.

The restaurant was empty this particular Sunday brunchtime, and we were sharing the round table in the window alcove at the front, giving us a clear view of the occasional U Street walk of shame. I was grateful that there wasn’t anyone else in the place to see my breakdown. Plus, the bottomless blood orange mimosas were helping me to relax.

Despite the lack of patrons, Coppi’s actually turned out to be a solid brunch, serving all organic omelettes, pastas, pizzas, and panini baked in a wood burning oven. But it’s an odd location for such a restaurant.

That part of U Street is mostly back-to-back with great Ethiopian spots, trendy new steakhouses and wine bars, and Thievery Corp-owned bars and lounges. A narrow little Italian joint just seems, well, a bit out of place. Plus its deep red walls are covered in photos, jerseys, and mementos of the Italian cyclist legend Fausto Coppi, making the place more Bucca di Peppo than Armanis.

Kiara spent the next few hours rattling through my marching orders: businesses to hit up, press releases to send, people to talk to. I sat there, sucking down mimosas and Italian food, and listening, my eyes as big as saucers. All the while thinking, I am not an event planner. What the hell have I gotten myself into?

I was in such a tizzy that afternoon, I can hardly remember the food, just that it was substantial and tasty. I had the frittata, which is made with organic Pennsylvania eggs. It was filled with cremini mushrooms, red onions, and red peppers. It was tasty, but a bit too heavy on the mushrooms for my liking.

There were roasted potatoes on the side, which were more like French fries than actual breakfast potatoes. I did love the Italian styled bacon, which is thin and greasy. Oh, and another great addition to the plate was the warm, soft biscuit served with whipped butter.

Kiara had one of the paninis, though I can’t recall which (I would ask her, but the woman is too busy, honestly). Perhaps it was the Melanzane, which has roasted eggplant, cremini mushroom, red pepper, smoked mozzarella and baby artichoke. That sounds amazing.

Or perhaps it was the Santino, with prosciutto, soppresatta, smoked mozzarella, mixed greens, red onion, roasted red peppers, and pepperoncini peppers. No … maybe it was the Merguez, which has feta, cucumbers, red onion and lamb sausage. So good. Why didn’t I get a Panini?

We didn’t attempt one of their famous pizzas, though the wood burning oven and bored kitchen boys sitting at the bar made it very tempting. There are many Italian pizza options, from the Biana Sette Colli (mozzarella, pancetta, and garlic) to the Salmone Affumicato (smoked salmon, sheep’s milk feta, ricotta, and more). Will definitely try go for a traditional pie next time.

Perhaps because there was no one else in the restaurant, the service was excellent. We were pampered: mimosas refilled before they were empty, advice given on the dishes, even a free dessert at the end of the meal: delicious cinnamon bread with powdered sugar on top.

After a few hours of charting my course, Kiara was done with brunch, and I was near tears. My list was enormous, and though Cori Sue was already off running with hers, how ever would we get it all done in time?

Breathe, I thought. And then take another sip of your mimosa. That’s how.

The Bitches say: B+ Great bottomless drinks, decent food, good service, just desolate and a bit odd.

Coppi’s Organic
1414 U Street NW
Washington, DC 20009
(202) 319-7773

By: Becca

A month ago Cori Sue and I received an invitation to a Luxury Rendezvous Brunch at Cities Restaurant downtown. I was immediately intrigued. Is this another debaucherous party brunch of epic proportions? If so, I am so there.

We gathered eight beautiful girlfriends and trekked through the sweaty streets of downtown to arrive promptly at 1 p.m. that Sunday afternoon. We were hungry, and we were thirsty, and we expected to roll into loud thumping music and fountains of champagne.

Alas, there was barely a soul at Cities.

The staff were just arriving and setting up, but they didn’t know for what. No one knew about a party brunch, even when we invoked the name of the person who invited us in the first place. Our gaggle of women were dressed to the nines, cranky, and perspiring. So, we left.

First we wandered the streets of downtown to find somewhere nearby. Kellari Taverna? Been there, done that. Bombay Club? Apparently they don’t serve brunch that late. The next best option, besides climbing the Connecticut Avenue hill up to Dupont Circle eateries, was to hop in a cab and head to P Street.

My roommate, Tammy, made the location suggestion. She had been taken to Scion a few weeks before on a date. The reason for the guy’s selection was its menu of beer and fried pickles (Tammy is a connoisseur of both). Five of us girls tumbled out of a very cramped cab ride and into the tiny restaurant, which was packed. Please, we begged, give us a table and mimosas, somewhere near an air conditioning vent. We were melting.

We were rescued by a very cute waiter named Alex, who not only secured us a private room complete with its own beer tap built into the table, but also pitchers and pitchers of mimosas and enormous wine glasses. I was blissfully grateful to be settled into this late brunch, even if I was eating at a restaurant seemingly named after my boyfriend’s car.

The lovely thing about Scion is that it’s a total neighborhood spot in a very lovely area. Clearly people are quite comfortable with just rolling out of their Dupont apartment, comfy clothes and all, and grabbing a table with friends for brunch. It’s also got a nice patio, though it was too hot for that when we went.

Another major plus is that this is first and foremost a liquid brunch. Any of the drinks on the menu can be made bottomless for just $5 more than the cost of the first drink, including beermosas, bloody marys, bellinis, and all sorts of interesting cocktails (I’ll take a Road to Recovery, followed by a Second Wind, please).

We hydrated on mimosas for hours and hours. And by the end of this brunch, the five of us were literally dancing on P Street trying to hail a cab. I hadn’t had such a solidly drunk brunch in a while. But, we’ll get to that later.

After the pitchers of mimosas were ordered, the next stop was to the fruit table, which is piled up high for the picking. Though it’s just a simple selection of sliced melons and grapes, the fruit gives you the chance to eat something refreshing while you peruse the brunch menu. And it’s free with any entree.

We went in for a selection of appetizers. The fried pickles, of course, were the first to be ordered. Thinly sliced, fried, and served with a side of ranch. They weren’t the best fried pickles I’ve ever had (living with Tammy for years means I’ve sampled my fair share), but they were decent to get things started.

The honey glazed baked brie was served on crostini with toasted almonds and srawberry preserves. Not only was this a very pretty dish, it was tasty, too. It went nicely with the curried potato chickpea croquettes, which were served with a cucumber yogurt sauce. There were lots of good appetizers to choose from. We even dipped into the hummus, which is made out of edamame.

For brunch, you can order salads and sandwiches, or a selection of breakfast and egg dishes. The nice thing about the salad and sandwiches menu is that you have an array of carnivorous toppings to choose from: grilled or crispy chicken, smoken salmon, steak, shrimp, or even scallops.

Brooke built her own scramble, which was fantastic. The protein selection for the a la carte eggs are just as impressive as those for the salads and sandwiches. You can get lobster, crabmeat or rock shrimp, ham, bacon, ground beef, chorizo or turkey sausage. For the veggies, a veggie crumble, black beans or veggie. Then, cheese and veggies.

The winning dish at the brunch table was actually the lobster Reuben, made with lobster meat, sauerkraut, 1000 island, Swiss cheese, and served on rye bread. It was packed with flavor, and toasted nicely.

Likewise, my lobster hash was tasty and massively filling. It was made with red potatoes, bacon, poached eggs, and Old Bay Hollandaise. We had high hopes for the cinnamon vanilla French toast, but it wasn’t as amazing as we had hoped. It was served with vanilla dipping sauce, maple syrup and crispy bacon, but the toast itself was a bit soggy.

The rest of the brunch options sounded mouthwateringly satisfying, especially after buckets of mimosas. Unfortunately, we didn’t get to try the Scion Sunrise, the breakfast sandwich, the crab cakes benedict, the steak and eggs, or the smoked salmon. That menu is like a roster of classic brunch dishes served without frills. I will definitely be back.

After nearly four hours of brunching the way brunching should be done, we staggered out to P Street to catch a cab. Ten minutes into our efforts, Alex, our server, ran out after us. Silly girls … in the midst of our raucous brunching, we had forgotten to sign our credit card receipts.

The Bitches say: Solid A. Awesome bottomless deal, and the food wasn’t anything gourmet, but it hit the spot.

Scion Restaurant
2100 P Street Northwest
Washington D.C., DC 20037
(202) 833-8899

By: Cori Sue

When I first moved to Washington, dance-maniac Becca took me to Policy for a crazy night of dancing amid the graffiti-laden walls and glitzy chandeliers of Policy’s second floor. I had a blast, but had no idea the nightclub served food. I think a lot of people in the District have had similar experiences with Policy.

Well, listen up, because you should go downstairs for dinner, and brunch, because what’s cooking in the kitchen is just as good, if not better, than the music and dancing upstairs.

It’s been years since this experience, and, as a 14th Street resident, I’ve had multiple delicious dinners at Policy. I even walked the runway at a DC Magazine and Saks Fifth Avenue fashion show held at the restaurant. Then, last month, Policy launched brunch.

Between vacations, Bitching, party planning and birthdays, it took me awhile to get there—but when I did, I enjoyed every bite. (Full disclosure: this brunch was complimentary, but that doesn’t take away from the incredible food and experience.)

I was joined by Hilary and Lindsey, and we requested a seat on Policy’s upstairs patio, which has big cushy patio furniture, string lights hanging above your head, and a funky graffiti mural of Washington on the wall. You could not find a better space for brunch with your girlfriends.

On this occasion, Belvedere vodka representatives were on hand doling out complimentary Bloody Marys to diners, made with a new Belvedere Bloody Mary vodka. The vodka smelled delicious, and exactly like a Bloody Mary—it’s infused with seven ingredients: black pepper, horseradish, bell pepper, chili pepper, vinegar, tomato and lemon. The Bloody Marys were flavorful and easy to drink. I finished the whole thing—a rarity for me, as they are usually too thick for me to finish a full cocktail. At brunch, Policy offers a bottomless Bloody Mary bar, and allows you to concoct your Bloody exactly to your liking. (Policy also offers bottomless mimosas, and both options are $18.)

Brunch began with a complimentary bread basket filled with miniature portions of the Laotian Pastry chef Deth Khaiaphone’s best treats. The basket included cranberry scones, blueberry muffins, chickpea quinoa muffins, and a chocolate bacon muffin. They were all unique and delicious—fluffy and moist, each with its own unique flavor.

I couldn’t sample the chocolate bacon muffin, but Lindsey says it was sweet, salty, savory and absolutely scrumptious. I can’t imagine the amount of thinking, baking and time that goes into making those cute little muffins—just one of the details that makes Policy so special.

The yogurt and fruit dish was actually a fruit plate with a citrus Greek yogurt dipping sauce, which, to me, was even better. As you may know, Miss Lindsey and I are harsh critics of restaurants’ fruit plates. Because, as our saying goes, if the fruit isn’t fresh, the rest of the food probably isn’t either. Lindsey says, “We always rate the quality of a restaurant based on the freshness of their fruit, and they definitely passed. The plate was delicious, featuring cherries, strawberries, raspberries, blueberries, mango, and pineapple.” Those happen to be all my favorite fruits—so I was happy as a clam.

We also shared the cinnamon sugar beignets in blueberry compote. The enormous, fluffy beignets were coated thickly in cinnamon sugar, which, it should be noted, remained on the beignet and not on your lap. The beignets were very sweet, but the compote was not too sweet, not too syrupy, or too jammy, but just right. (Gotta love those Goldilocks moments!) There were whole delicious blueberries throughout the compote. You simply must order the beignets.

For her meal, Lindsey ordered the hot smoked salmon. She says, “It was served in a classic smoked salmon style on a plate with capers, diced red onions, diced eggs, and a cream cheese and chive spread. However, as usual, Chef Brian added his own creative touches. The salmon was warm and fully cooked, rather than the usual cold lox. Additionally, rather than a bagel, the spread was served with latke like hash browns that were a unique, yet delicious, pairing for the salmon plate.”

For my main course, I ordered the crab and eggs Benedict, which, at this point, I know surprises none of you. The English muffin was made in house by Policy’s pastry whiz, and topped with wilted spinach, fresh crab meat and a tomato Old Bay Hollandaise. Adding wilted spinach to a Benedict often makes the dish oilier, and this Benedict was no exception. However, it was not overly oily to the point that I didn’t enjoy it. The Old Bay Hollandaise changed up the flavors and really surprised my palate—I’ve eaten so many Benedicts that sometimes they all run together. This flavor, however, was memorable and unique.

Also on the table were the truffled asiago stone mill grits. Hilary, a Southern Georgia girl, thought the grits could have a bit been better, labeling them too watery and not fully cooked. I, however, really enjoyed them. But, I love anything with truffle oil and cheese, and I am no Grits expert.

The meal concluded with Policy’s candied bacon. Part of Policy’s brunch shtick is a “bacon brunch,” meaning you can add bacon to anything. Again, I didn’t try the bacon, but, Lindsey says, “I was surprised I loved it. I typically don’t like bacon or even most candies, but the sugar-salt combination was dangerously addictive.”

Chef Brian is a creative mastermind in the kitchen and adds a unique flair to every dish, making each plate just a little bit different and just a little bit special. Lindsey always told me Chef Brian is the best kept secret in Washington, and I agree. Here’s the kicker, ladies: He’s a total dreamboat.

The Bitches say: A. Policy’s dishes are creative, original, and artfully prepared. There is something for everyone on the menu—and your taste buds will enjoy every bite.

Policy
1904 14th Street NW
Washington, DC
(202) 387-7654

By: Becca

Have you ever met Chef Ris Lacoste? She’s one of the most phenomenal women in D.C. She’s not just a talented and respected chef with a resume to be envied, she’s also a dedicated philanthropist and savvy businesswoman. She has incredible taste, she’s kind (she hugs her employees every day), and I swear, she’s changing the D.C. culinary and philanthropic scene as I type this.

Within a few months of her namesake restaurant opening, Cori Sue and I were battling for mayor on Foursquare. And when she launched the brunch at Ris, we were officially in love.

My gushing will do this brunch no justice (just check out the mouth-watering pics, below). The Washingtonian just named it “Best Surprise Brunch” in their “Best Of” issue. And it’s true: the small-plates style is exactly what Washington needs. Brunch is for big groups of friends, for sharing, for amazing food and bottomless mimosas and Marys. Ris’ menu has all that, set in understated elegance and comfort.

We’re so honored that Ris is hosting our Summer Brunch Soiree next Saturday, July 9, to benefit the D.C. Farm to School Network. She’ll be serving up the very best of her extraordinary brunch menu at the event. The dishes will be made smaller than usual, to be passed, cocktail-style, at the party. They’ll include everything from shrimp tempura, to beef short rib hash in puff pastry, to cinnamon gnudi and other treats. It’ll be a sampling, but a magnificent one.

We don’t want to give everything away, as we want you to try it for yourself. Make sure you get tickets by clicking here.

By: Becca

Spring had sprung and I was determined to get outdoors. The new directive? Cycle to brunch every Saturday and Sunday morning. In my head, this ingenious plan served multiple purposes: 1) it would save me the excruciating weekend-afternoon Metro or car ride to brunch; 2) the cardio-fueled jaunt across the bridge and up into the city would do my body good; and 3) I would be able to say that I actually accomplished something on a Sunday besides polishing off pitchers of mimosas and falling back into bed.

Well, that lasted all of one day. And, who am I kidding? I never feel guilty about sucking up an entire Sunday afternoon on brunch. Or polishing off mimosas. Or napping.

But on this particular Sunday morning, feeling unusually alive for that hour of the weekend, I whizzed across the Memorial Bridge on my new-ish bike. My poor boyfriend, painstakingly trying to keep up and not wobble into traffic, was trailing behind on my roommate’s light blue single-speed Huffy (I torture him; it’s true).

When we finally made it to Hudson Restaurant, locking up our bikes up as if it was something we do all the time and strolling in covered in sweat and bike grease, I realized, oh, this probably isn’t the place to show up post-bike ride. The tables were covered in white linen; there was beautiful, original art on the walls; the bar is sleek and colorfully lit; and there’s this gorgeous little back room with plum walls and floral art that is just asking for a girls’ birthday dinner party. The patio wasn’t open when we brunched there, but it likely is now.

Perhaps I should have made it a point to dine at Hudson sooner. Certainly, I should have made it a point to not dine while covered in cycling grime. The restaurant positions itself as contemporary, chic—cosmopolitan, if you will. But still, it’s very comfortable. And, so, our party of eight kicked off the white-table-cloth brunch with bottomless mimosas and Marys, and baskets of lovely cornbread. And continued there for four hours, per usual.

We started with the banana and granola bruschetta, which, frankly, sounds like breakfast heaven, doesn’t it? Toasted bread coated with peanut butter, slices of banana, and a sprinkle of granola. All this, drizzled with lavender honey. It was a sticky, gooey, sweet way to start off. So we countered that with some soup, the Matzo ball soup, to be exact. Made with pulled chicken, carrots, turnips, celery, it was veggie-hearty and packed with flavor.

Then the entrees arrived, and things started to go downhill a bit with the service. Once the main course was on the table, it was hard to grab a server to refill our bottomless glasses. The Marys were authentic and some of the best we’ve had, and the mimosas were adequately bubbly and pulpy, but it was next to impossible to snag a fresh glass, or any attention whatsoever from the servers.

To be honest, I worry that the owners might be steering a lot of their attention towards their new venture, Lincoln, a few city blocks away on Vermont, and are loosening their grip on the service at Hudson. Please tell me this isn’t true; Hudson has so much going for it.

The Maryland crab cake Benedict didn’t hold a candle to any we’ve had at other brunches. But the salmon scramble did. It was made with scrambled eggs, salmon, scallions, tomato, cream cheese, and capers, and practically covered arugula. The salmon was not smoked (surprising considering the Eastern European/Jewish tendency of the menu). It was good, but the most memorable thing was how freaking massive it was. In fact, come to think of it, each of the egg dishes on the menu were particularly large. They come with four eggs. Four! That’s sort of ridiculous, no?

My Hungry Man’s Pot (because, hey, why not just go for it?) was a huge bowl of cheesy eggs, bacon, chorizo, and country gravy, all mixed together, with a few biscuits buried deep underneath. I could barely make it down to the biscuits, never mind finish the dish. So much egg. Likewise, the steak and eggs were filling, but also came with four eggs atop them (along with some delicious fontina cheese). This place wants to fuel you up with protein … perhaps it is the perfect place before a bike ride, after all.

Going along with the Jewish theme, we had side orders of potato pancakes, which sort of resemble hash browns. They came nowhere close to Brooke’s mother’s latkes, she attests, but they were still pretty darn good. Our only complaint? They were served with ketchup instead of applesauce and sour cream.

Poor beau ordered his usual Belgian waffle, which was supposed to come with pecans, sliced bananas, and syrup. Instead he got a naked, nearly cold waffle with a shot glass of syrup and a couple sprinkled pecans. To this day he still refers to it as “the Bullshit Waffle.” Ha! I had to laugh at that dish, especially because I had the Hungry Man’s Pot in front of me.

The barbecue pizza, however, was sort of perfect. The crust was just crunchy and soft enough—a tricky medium to attain. The sauce wasn’t overpowering, and it was covered with cabot cheddar cheese, shaved red onion, and an arugula mix.

The Bitches say: B-. So much potential! Don’t forget about lovely Hudson while opening Mr. Lincoln. The service and kitchen are slipping and still needs to be top of mind.

Hudson Restaurant & Lounge
2030 M Street NW
Washington, DC 20036
(202) 872-8700

By: Cori Sue

I simply adore ACKC Cocoa Bar—what’s not to love? It’s a boutique chocolatier with cards, unique gifts and chocolates that’s perfect for picking up a last-minute birthday or hostess gift. It has amazing desserts, coffee, and hot chocolate, making it perfect for meeting a friend or for studying and reading the newspaper on a lazy afternoon. Best of all, it’s in my neighborhood.

ACKC also offers Sunday brunch. I was slightly unnerved at the idea of eating a full meal at the café, as it is the only meal it offers and it’s more of a dessert and coffee shop. But, if it involves chocolate, I’m willing to give it a try.

I opted for my go-to hangover beverages—tall glass of water, cup of coffee, and orange juice—rather than ACKC’s great bottomless mimosa deal, $10 for all-you-can-drink. While the coffee was stellar, the orange juice was mediocre—definitely not fresh-squeezed and not even as good as Tropicana, either. (I’m a Floridian, we know our OJ, people). Meanwhile, beau had a delicious cappuccino.

For brunch, I chose the lavender chocolate stuffed French toast, which is flavored with paprika and sprinkled with powdered sugar and lavender petals. You choose from white, milk, or dark chocolate filling. I initially opted for white chocolate, but the waitress politely led me the way of dark chocolate, saying the white may be too sweet.

The French toast was decadent and unique—two pieces of fluffy white bread flavored with paprika and oozing with rich dark chocolate. I’d never eaten lavender before (isn’t it more for lotions and eye pillows?) and was surprised how well three unique flavors—paprika, lavender and chocolate paired together.

Meanwhile, beau opted for the chocolate bacon torta, which was essential a variation on the chocolate French toast with bacon thrown in. He says,

“My torta was a really awesome dessert-as-a-meal entree. It was pretty much french bread, with melted chocolate and bacon mixed in. The bread was moist and fluffy, and the bacon was pretty good and added a much-needed crunch. The fruit cup that that came with it didn’t really go with the torta that well—watermelon and grapes are not a good compliment to chocolate and syrup, in my opinion.”

I concur on the lackluster fruit cup. While it was not as awful as Mei n Yu, I’m a stickler for quality, delicious fresh fruit and this did not meet my standards.

Meanwhile, beau thinks it’s a bit overpriced—after all, the dishes were plastic. He explains,

“I take issue with the pricing. $14 for an entree would be pretty normal at a nicer  sit-down restaurant. This is a chocolate and pastry retail shop that happens to serve brunch on the side. I’m down with drinking from plastic cups and using plastic forks and knives, but don’t charge me a premium.”

The Bitch and Beau say: A-. You go to ACKC for chocolate and carbs, essentially dessert-for-breakfast. If you arrive expecting that, it’s a great experience—and the bottomless mimosas are a great deal. We’d obviously prefer fresher fruit and real silverware, but we quickly forget about that when you put a plate of chocolate-covered deliciousness in our face.

ACKC DC
1529C 14th St. N.W.
Washington, D.C.

ACKC Virginia
2003A Mt. Vernon Ave.
Alexandria, VA