Except it wasn't so much a brunch, as a brunch/lunch/afternoon feast that left us in food comas for hours on end.
But lest you think that my husband is a miracle worker, he's not. He's a fantastic chef, but he's still human. Human enough to have to attempt the hollandaise sauce 3 times, due to the sauce separating. Cue emergency runs for more eggs and butter.
The finished product was definitely worth it though - perfectly poached eggs on pan-toasted english muffins, with a generous helping of smoked salmon and (the third time lucky) hollandaise sauce.
As if that wasn't decadent enough, we had homemade tagliatelle with mozzarella-stuffed meatballs. The meatballs were a combination of veal, pork and beef, and the cheese stuffing made it. The fresh pasta was flavoured with parsley and olive oil - carbs cure anything.
After some bubbly to wash it down, and sitting prepared with cups of espresso and tea, we unbuttoned our jeans for the finale - brioche french toast, soaked in crème anglaise, served with rhubarb and strawberry compote, topped with glazed blueberries. Phew.
It's a hard job being a taste-tester for E's culinary experiments, so thank you to C & J for being good sports and being great company!
I kid. (About the taste-tester part, not the great company part.) E knows that the way to my heart is through my stomach, and I'm okay with him exploiting that.
I thank him by posting about it on the blog. It's a fair deal, isn't it?