Brunch is a fad that I have only recently adopted. Due to the fact that I’m definitely not a morning person – never was, never will be – I have never been fond of breakfast. Breakfast food, on the other hand, I’m a fan of. Really, any type of food. And brunch just seems like the perfect excuse to wake up not to early and pig out before lunch without being judged. And nice brunch places usually have very nice tea.
And so I took my boyfriend to The Collins Quarter. They describe themselves as an Aussie-style café, bar and restaurant, so I thought my boyfriend would enjoy some comfort food (If you don’t know he is Australian, then you haven’t been keeping up with my blog, people).
So we get to this beautiful place, and he immediately goes for the Aussie Breakie. Shocker. Doesn’t even browse the menu. I ordered whatever had the most stuff in it. Shocker. And to wash all the food down we chose to share some tea. Mango tea, to be more precise.
I love fruit. And that has nothing to do with me being gay. I don’t think. Of course not. Probably not. Right? Who knows, really. But that’s not the point. The point is I have always loved fruit, and, growing up in Colombia, fruit has always been a part of my life. It’s comforting and sweet and bitter and delicious. Ok, maybe it has something to do with me being gay. But fruit is something that reminds me of home. And, to me, mango translates to beach. And by translate , I mean that it reminds me of it, people. Focus.
Back home, there’s no better place to eat mango with salt and pepper, at the beach. Vendors will pass by, shouting their wares, and offer you from the whitest tart mango to the sweetest amber ones. If you haven’t guessed by now, I go for the former. And this is what I was thinking of while I drank my tea.
Sweet, fruity, aromatic.