I don't generally do brunch. Not out of any sort of principle. I like breakfast food and I never cook it myself, but I just cant get up and going early enough. Brunch usually means close to home and my close to home equals lots of strollers and needlessly affectionate couples that I already get enough of on the F train.
So, Hill Diner was random and spur of the moment. And it didn't kill me to wake up and get myself together on a late Saturday afternoon. I've discovered that there's no one worth impressing in the vicinity of my apartment anyway, and South Brooklyn chic consists of women with no makeup, ponytails, glasses and Patagonia fleece. I've never gotten the I'm so full of substance and intellect that I have no need to enhance my looks aesthetic. Getting dolled up for omelets in this climate is futile and a waste of good product.
My croque madame, roasted potatoes and coffee were enjoyable. The company around us, not so much. My jest "doesnt being in here make you want to start a family?" was met with a steely glare, and made me ponder what life would be like with a boyfriend possessing a better grip on jibing humor. Clearly, my problems with brunching has nothing to do with the actual food.
Hill Diner * 231 Court St., Brooklyn, NY