Saturday mornings are made for one thing, and one thing only: brunch. So, when I went to Washington D.C., I didn’t waste any time requesting we go to brunch in the great capital city.
Brunch food is the best food. It isn’t quite breakfast, but it isn’t just lunch either. It is a great mixture of my two favorite meals; also, it is the only time it is acceptable to drink alcohol during breakfast time.
Washington D.C. was no exception. I went with two of my best friends; friends who made brunch a staple for me in Italy; my roommates from a year ago who encouraged me to live more, eat more and drink more. So, this little reunion could only take place at brunch (I think pizza would have been acceptable too, but it was Saturday morning, so brunch won).
In true Anthony Bourdain style, I chose the restaurant with the most promising, flavorful name; The Pig. For those of you who don’t know who Anthony Bourdain is or why this restaurant would appeal to him, go watch some Netflix. Now.
The restaurant was a combination of “old meets modern” and “hipster”. The tables were made of light wood and looked as if a pig had been slaughtered on them at one point or another, with deep knife grooves and a glossy, almost too clean, finish. Music was low and the air conditioner was blasting as we took our seats.
We sat down, and my eyes immediately went to the drink menu. It was full of mimosas, ginger sparkling drinks and strawberry smashes. We ordered the last strawberry smash they had available, a mimosa and a ginger sparkling drink. To be honest, the drinks didn’t impress me that much. But, I wasn’t there for the drinks; I was there for the pig.
I almost, ALMOST got an omelet, but then I laughed and turned my attention to the pig meatball instead. Yes, that’s right, meatballs for breakfast. WINNING.
After two or three cups of coffee in a glossy, teal mug and a harmless joke on our awkward waiter who took me seriously when I said I was allergic to pork, we received our meals.
Let me tell you, my pork meatball was heaven. My dish arrived with an aura all of its own. It was one large meatball, placed atop of kale and cheesey grits. The best part, however, was that it was covered with an easy-over egg and sprinkled with bacon. Score. Score. Double Score.
One slice down the middle and the flavors all began to mix together into a delicious, inviting, almost healthy (at least that’s what I told myself) bite. Eggs should always be on top of a meatball, and I don’t know why no one has thought of this before.
Needless to say, The Pig won my heart, soul and stomach. If I am ever back in D.C., I will eat here again. I will probably forgo the champagne, however, and head straight for the food.