Brunch Nostalgia

I’d been clutching the steering wheel for more than two hours. Finally on the freeway, the winding (and sometimes terrifying) majesty of highway one far beyond my rearview mirror, left me able to concentrate on other things. Conversation had perked up since the descent into straight roads without crashing waves to remind us of what a wrong turn would mean. Motion sickness for my passengers had passed and home was in sight. We’d spent the weekend in Gualala celebrating a friend’s birthday. 

The time nearing 2pm and breakfast long forgotten, Karma and I began to contemplate lunch…or rather, our preferred midday meal, brunch. We found ourselves at Hopscotch, a slightly Japanese influenced California cuisine spot we’ve both brunch-swooned since having our first brunch there some months ago. We aren’t sure why we haven’t been back, as we tell everyone about the pork belly benedict and the bacon, egg, and avocado breakfast sandwich.

This afternoon was the afternoon of our return and we parked and found the place uncrowded – unusual in the evenings when dinner is served. 

Seeing the items from our nostalgic first visit, we ordered immediately – pondering only momentarily over a fried chicken and soba biscuit dish that Karma overheard from the table behind was the specialty dish they were known for. Karma looked at me and we shook our heads, “next time next time.”

Food ordered, we settled into the waning afternoon. Conversation meandered from the weekend and our crazy friends to the week ahead. And then the food arrived.

“It looks different than I remember it,” I announced. The bacon seemed an odd color, more of a brownish grey than the maple brown I am accustomed to. 

“I don’t remember this being bacon,” Karma commented.

“I think it is just a thinner cut of pork belly,” I assured her. But throughout the meal she referred to it as bacon nonetheless. 

We busied ourselves dividing our meal. Longtime eating buddies we have perfected both tandem ordering and tandem eating. We study a menu and point out the two or three things we each find interesting and find the intersection of those choices between us. Some people insist on separate plates when they intend to share food but Karma and I only bother with such distractions when the food, like the poached eggs and miso hollandaise laden pork belly benedict, is too messy to reasonably share. 

We settled into our meal. Conversation lulled to the reassembling of sandwiches and the scooping of potatoes. 

“This isn’t how I remember it,” Karma remarked.

“They must have changed something,” I agreed.

Don’t get me wrong, the food wasn’t bad. In fact, as I chided Karma to provide her usual snarky comments she admitted that she generally had little to say when the food is good (that is patently untrue but the point is that she didn’t have any reason to complain). 

left: Pork belly Benedict and half a breakfast sandwhich

Still, I found myself daydreaming about the perfect brunch: the duck fat potatoes from Boot and Shoe Service, the pork belly benedict (the egg yolks to orange against the plate that they look like pools of melted carrot- if carrots could indeed melt), biscuits from Next Door. As I rattled them off Karma, between bites, nodded her head, “That would be the perfect brunch”. 

Karma, sipping her third cup of rooibos tea, me slurping the last of my ginger limeade through a straw (I need to remember that I don’t need to order that drink, water will do), plowed through our meal. The benedict was by far the best thing. A subtle sweetness peaked through the pork and miso and I couldn’t quite tell if it was a wayward pickled shallot from the breakfast sandwich or something else. Either way it was a tiny burst of sunshine that accented the seared belly and velvety eggs.

The potatoes, dressed in a tiny cast iron skillet for no discernable reason beyond effect, were wet and bland, the romaine salad uneventful, and the fruit cup hosted coolish fruit swimming soggily in its own rendered juices. 

But the meal wasn’t about the sides…it was about the meat. “Would you like some breakfast with your pork,” Karma quipped at some point while we ate. 

Doughnuts with butterscotch custard

Not quite full from our breakfast, Karma and I eyed the dessert menu and settled easily upon the donuts and cream. Three balls of lightly fried dough, dusted lightly with sugar, appeared on our table with a small dish of butterscotch custard. The doughnuts were fine. Freshly fried, they came out hot and airy, the perfect size to manage two bites each. But the winner of the dessert was the butterscotch custard. Rich as a Bill Gates and smooth as a politician’s lies, the butterscotch custard was delightful and the small doughnuts proved the perfect conduit to experience it. The custard could easily stand alone, but its decadence leaves me to believe that I might indeed eat a full helping and regret it almost immediately. 

Forty-seven dollars (plus tip) later, Karma and I had to admit that Hopscotch is no better pricewise than Boot and Shoe. Both are too rich for our blood. Sigh.

While Hopscotch is still a solid choice for brunch and dinner if you’ve got some money to spend (I’ve yet to do happy hour or lunch), Karma and I are still on the hunt for a brunch place that frugally wows us without fail and holds up to our memories from the last time we ate there. 

Egg, bacon, and avocado breakfast sandwhich with soggy fruit.

Hopscotch

1915 San Pablo Ave

Oakland, CA 94612

510.788.6217