• Who: Patty, Laura, Mel, Gina, Kath
• Where: 14th St
• What: Biscuits and Mac and Cheese for the table, Country Frittata (no cheese), and a bloody (and Patty’s bloody, too)

Nothing makes a girl hungrier for brunch than spending a few hours volunteering at a foodbank. I say that will self-deprecating sarcasm, but I’m not even kidding because on Sunday it was true. In a display of good person-ness (inspired by Kathryn), five of my bff ladyfriends and I worked for a morning chopping apples, wrapping desserts, making salads and packing meals at Martha’s Table, an organization in our neighborhood that brings food, clothing, education, and family strengthening programs to people all over the DC area. It was nice, especially on Mother’s Day, to give back a little bit to people in need instead of what we’d usually be doing on a Sunday morning—sitting on the couch, going to the gym, reading the paper…and a good reminder that we could all use a little less boozing on our weekends and a little more time doing some community service.

All this goodwill aside, by the time we were finished at 1:00pm, we had all been man-handling food for the better part of our mornings (except for Gina, who somehow also ran a 5k before she met us), and were ready to eat. Since making a brunch reservation while still wearing a hairnet at a shelter is (at best) in poor form, we took our chances and just walked to the closest possible spot, a southern inspired restaurant directly across the street on V.

In my mind, it’s a little ironic that we ended up in Eatonville after a morning of humbling reflection and rumination on the fact that we live in a city where many of our fellow residents are desperately in need of the everyday luxuries that we take for granted. Why irony? Because if there’s one thing the South is famous for when it comes to cooking, its butter, cheese and excess. And that is exactly what we got. Delicious drinks, delicious mac and cheese (in fact, we miiiight have gotten a second one) and delicious fried everything.

And don’t think I’m getting all high and mighty preachy here, because I’m not. Clearly I’ve had 41(ish) meals this year that would indicate just the opposite.  I’m simply saying that being fortunate enough to breezily enjoy a leisurely Sunday brunch with your best friends, and to just as breezily slap down a credit card to pay for it at the end, is just something, well, really fortunate. And it’s nice sometimes when you’re forced to remember that, as I almost always forget to do.  I’m pretty sure that any of the people receiving the lunches we packed earlier that morning would agree—just as much as they wouldn’t tell us to feel guilty for being lucky enough to have an afternoon cocktail and some homemade biscuits.