Every Saturday morning you’ll find my sister and me sliding onto the same stools at our favorite brunch spot (Betty’s Diner) bar. We’re creatures of habit, so the order nearly never changes:
- Scrambled-tofu hash packed with caramelized onions, sweet potatoes, black beans, and roasted red peppers
- A generous side of avocado
- Hard-scrambled eggs for good measure for me
Drinks are half the fun. We both start with hot tea and water, but that’s where the similarities end:
- I nurse a ¾ mimosa—heavy on the OJ, light on the prosecco (I’m the driver).
- My sister keeps it tart with a Moscow mule, a peach Bellini, or the occasional Tom Collins.
What makes the ritual special is John, the bartender. The moment we walk in, he’s already juicing limes, pulling the hammered-copper mug off the shelf, and lining up our glasses. He remembers that my sister likes her cocktails tart, and that my mimosa is more sunrise than champagne. Between refills he leans over the bar to share stories and updates.
Good food is easy to find; genuine hospitality isn’t. John’s effortless way of making us feel at home is why Saturday brunch is non-negotiable on our calendar.
MD Cashdollar 