It's been over two months since Richmond Brunch Weekend happened! Honestly, we've been dieting ever since due to all those mimosas and omelets eaten Saturday and Sunday.
But we want to thank you all for coming out and supporting the first ever Richmond Brunch Weekend! In total, we had 24 restaurants participate and raised over $11,000 that will all go back to VCU Massey Cancer Center. We think these are awesome figures for our inaugural event, and we can't wait to plan for the Second Annual Richmond Brunch Weekend!
Of course, none of this would have been possible without you - our dedicated readers and brunchers - and also all of the restaurants, their staffs, and our sponsors. We also have to thank our partners, the Massey Alliance. An event like this can't happen without many chefs in the kitchen.
We look forward to serving you up more mimosas, more waffles, and more omelets in 2017, all while fighting cancer! To stay up-to-date, subscribe to our blog below and/or like us on Facebook, follow us on Twitter and Instagram, and like Richmond Brunch Weekend's Facebook page!
Thursday night at a rooftop bar. All the usual suspects are out. There’s a couple of bros in pastel Polos, obviously prowling and aware of their hyper-masculine charm. A group of women with froses who maybe came from another happy hour and are here until someone takes them home or they Uber home to microwaved pizza. Another group of women who are presumed married – or at least seriously coupled off – and will be leaving as soon as their check arrives.
There’s the co-eds who are just as eager to hook up within their group as they are with anyone else on this rooftop. Then then there’s the Baby Boomers floating around, perhaps divorced, more likely here to enjoy youthful charm and whatever musician the venue has booked for the evening.
For the past several years, my go-to fun fact has been telling people I’ve been hit by a car twice. This always grabs people’s attention and they want to know how, which I myself can’t give an accurate explanation for why I’ve been hit twice. But now I can add a new narrative to my arsenal: I have been in a car that has hit someone.
This past weekend, my friends and I car-pooled to brunch. Our cast includes Justin who makes frequent appearances on this blog as my former illegal roommate and who was also present two years ago when I broke an Uber. Also costarring are Molly and Alina, two longtime friends.
Our Lyft driver arrived almost immediately after I beckoned him. Several brunches ago, Molly and I got into a brawl because I tend to think we’re going to leave at 11 am when we say 11 and she assumes that means the party won’t possibly put on shoes until 11:20 AM.
Every year around the 7th of July, I start to get panicky. I dodge questions about the 11th. I make a weird joke about free slurpies at 7-11. But then I subtly tell people it's my birthday. But that I am already busy with trivial, mundane things like working out, meetings and various other very skippable things. I give people the out they need to skip my birthday.
I think I want people to take the out because
I hate my birthday.
A fun fact you likely don't know about this blog: at it's very inception, it was themed around makeup because for a couple of months a half a decade ago, I dappled in selling Mary Kay. I wanted the skin product and for the same price, you got a the whole set AND a starter kit to start selling makeup. I was like, "Well, I'm broke AF, so mine as well," and that's how I spiraled into a little foray into selling skincare and makeup.
At the end of last year, I wrote a blogpost called “My Trailer for 2018.” It was supposed to be a prediction of moments that would happen in my coming year. As we close the first half of 2018, I figured I’d review the moments and see what’s happened so far and what is still to come.
Me holding a puppy in my arms. – Yes, this happened in March. Here’s a photo.
Me crying. Just kidding. I wouldn’t cry! My eyes are wet. We don’t know why. – Well, now I know why. But I didn’t cry.
Considering I go to Connecticut as infrequently as possible these days (it's a hellish commute up the eternally-congested 95 corridor), it's funny to think we have a 'regular' spot to go to brunch. Perhaps it's because it's relatively close, or because it's one of the only options with alcohol, or perhaps it's because Witchdoctor Brewing is right down the road. But any way it shakes out, I've been to 75 Center twice for brunch now and once for dinner, which statistically means it's the most likely place for me to brunch in Connecticut.
And I'm alright with that. More than alright, actually.
A few weeks ago, I woke up on seven hours of sleep ready to conquer life, the world, and Mars without a drop of coffee. I remember thinking, wow, this is what real sleep feels like.
I had gone to bed the night before somewhat early, but considerably tipsy, after an evening spent with an attractive friend of a friend. Nothing spectacular happened, but I discovered I even left a fully made sandwich on my countertop before going to bed (ham, no less!). I scarfed the sandwich down and skipped down the sidewalk, practically singing bonjour to every human and squirrel I passed.
As I lay in bed on our overnight trip to Charlottesville, scrolling through Yelp to find something close and delicious to eat for brunch, I landed on IRON's website. Sandwiches made on waffles. That's unique. I rolled over and mumbled, "Maybe this place," and handed my phone off.
There was beer on the menu, sweet and savory options, so to IRON's we went to try out some paffles.
A couple of weeks ago, my friend invited me to her wedding. I brought my roommate Katherine as my plus one and booked an Airbnb for us.
I didn’t spend too much time on the selection. We wouldn’t be at the place long, just to change before the wedding and to sleep afterward. There also weren’t a ton of selections in the area, but I found a suburban two-storey bungalow for $50. The rental was a private room, meaning the host would be home, but that was fine; I’ve done that before in the States and abroad. Plus, I had a $20 voucher I could apply to make the entire rental $30. Amazing!
I forgot about the Airbnb almost entirely until a week before the wedding when “Mr. Xi” emailed confirming my arrival and informing me he would be out of town. “I’ll leave key in lockbox,” he wrote. “The code is 7133. Leave the key there when you go out.”
A few weeks ago, I had the opportunity to attend a popup dinner at Tarrant’s West. The dinner was centered around Mollydooker wine, a famous Australian brand known for an irreverent shake, and Little Saint, the newest restaurant in the RVA Hospitality group. (“New” may be a loose term now that we’re approaching the end of Little Saint’s first year.) Without even having to write it, you know the evening was filled with lots of reds, the Mollydooker shake, and the best of culinary fares.
RVA Hospitality is the restaurant group that includes (obviously) Tarrant’s West and Little Saint, but also their siblings, Tarrant’s Café and Max’s on Broad. I’ve gotten to know RVA Hospitality’s owner, Frances Santarella, very well since RVA Hospitality has been such a strong supporter of Richmond Brunch Weekend for three years. When Frances asked me to come to this pop up, I couldn’t say no. This also offered me a chance to see the recently reopened sunroom at Tarrant’s West fit with hanging plants and streaming sunlight—all aesthetics that I love and Instagram! This is even perfect for when it’s hot to sit outside, but you want to feel like you’re outside (with a fan blowing above you).