L'il Brunch

A few weeks ago a friend who doesn't do much cooking gave me a recipe for some scones and asked me to make a batch for her. Being in the midst of cleansing my organs of evil spirits/toxins and therefore being unable to consume even one single ingredient in said recipe (except the salt, which was Celtic sea salt, OF COURSE! but that still doesn't count), I had to politely decline the request and said I'd catch her later. So with that and a quiche recipe I'd been eyeing I had a few friends over for a last minute brunch. I felt very Junior League-ish although we didn't talk about our gardeners, house servants, or personal masseuses. Not much anyway. This picture is the aftermath since I forgot to snap a photo beforehand.

As much fun as it was I don't think it's something I could (or should) do very often. There WAS fruit to be had, but between the Fat Roll (spicy sausage, cream cheese, and pastry dough, thank you very much, Mrs. C), the eggs, cheese, biscuits (no southern brunch is complete without Monkeybread in my opinion) and butter, butter and more butter, we'd need to chip in to hire a paramedic to be sitting at the ready with defibrillator charged and ready to go. When you go to a brunch you want to hear about the latest gossip at the area schools, what crazy thing Rosie O'Donnell and Donald Trump are sparring over, summer plans, various plans to participate in or stories of participating in area sporting events, but most definitely not "Charged....and....CLEAR!".