The Brunch Buffet

I avoided a foray into gluttony this weekend. It was at a brunch buffet served in an old-world hotel, rather hoary with the weight of its history. It would have been so easy to let go of all discretion and be swept away by the sights and scents which besieged me from all sides. It did not help that I was foolhardy enough not to have eaten anything that morning save for a glass of soymilk.

After a cursory survey of the buffet arrangement and making mental notes, I settled myself in front of the omelette station. As the oil sizzled on the pan and the ingredients I had chosen were folded into the eggs, I was struck by both the simplicity and luxuriance of this dish. The omelette has a down-home heartiness, yet its pillowy lightness suggests a more sybaritic indulgence.

I chose an English Breakfast tea, carrying the Revolution brand, which I had not heard of before. The tea was loose-leaf but was packaged in a mesh-like bag which fortunately did not interfere with the inherent taste of the tea itself. It was surprisingly good, imparting a definite note of lemon from the Assam and Ceylon blend.

It was not difficult to stay mindful in these pleasant surroundings: the piano tinkling in the corner, the glass chandeliers twinkling, and the warmth of the tea in my hands. I luxuriated in the taste of each mouthful of the fluffy omelette, the piquancy of the black bean risotto, the crunchiness of a fresh green salad, and the delightful creamy sweetness of the banana cheesecake.

The slow savoring of each morsel synchronized easily with my breathing as my hunger passed.