You know those places everyone tells you that you absolutely must try? The ones with lines snaking around the corner every weekend morning and Instagram feeds flooded with their perfectly plated dishes? I’m talking about those hyped brunch destinations that get rave reviews from everyone except, well, people who actually think critically about where their money goes. Let’s be honest, I finally caved. After months of hearing friends gush about this spot and seeing countless posts of their avocado toast, I decided to see what all the fuss was about. Spoiler alert: I walked out wondering if we’d all collectively lost our minds. Here’s what actually happened when I tried the most overrated brunch spot in town, and trust me, you might want to sit down for this.
The Hour-Long Wait That Made Me Question My Life Choices
First things first: the wait. Oh, the wait. I arrived at what I thought was a reasonable time – around ten thirty on a Sunday morning – only to be told the wait would be “about an hour.” Research shows that longer waiting times relate to reneging behavior, a longer time until a customer returns, and a shorter dining duration. That should’ve been my first red flag, honestly.
Here’s the thing about waiting an hour for brunch: you start to build it up in your head. You convince yourself that whatever you’re about to eat better be life-changing. The host assured me it would be worth it, flashing that practiced smile that said she’d given this speech a thousand times before. I watched as groups shuffled around outside, some sitting on the curb, others wandering off to nearby shops. Studies indicate that customers who are forced to wait longer than expected are 18 percent less satisfied with their experience overall. I should have trusted that statistic.
The promised hour turned into seventy-five minutes. When they finally called my name, I was already irritated, hungry, and pretty much ready to order everything on the menu just to justify this absurd wait time.
Atmosphere: Instagram-Ready, Customer-Hostile
Walking into the dining room felt like stepping onto a film set. Every corner was designed for the ‘gram. There were hanging plants everywhere, exposed brick walls, trendy Edison bulbs, and those uncomfortable wooden chairs that look great in photos but make you want to leave after twenty minutes. Platforms like Instagram have turned brunch into a visually-driven experience, emphasising aesthetically pleasing dishes and settings, making brunch a popular subject for social media.
The place was packed, naturally. The noise level was somewhere between “busy subway station” and “small aircraft hangar.” I’m not exaggerating. Trying to have a conversation required leaning across the table and practically shouting. The tables were crammed so close together that I could hear every word of the couple next to me arguing about whether to order the french toast or the eggs benedict. Spoiler: they should have chosen neither.
The Menu: Reinventing the Wheel Nobody Asked For
Let me paint you a picture of this menu. It was one of those places that takes classic brunch items and adds completely unnecessary twists. Avocado toast with “activated charcoal aioli.” Pancakes topped with “deconstructed s’mores.” Eggs benedict reimagined with kimchi hollandaise. I’m all for creativity, but sometimes a classic is classic for a reason.
The prices were, shall we say, ambitious. In today’s pricey brunch scene, a simple stack of pancakes or eggs Benedict devours a significant chunk of your weekly food budget. We’re talking twenty-two dollars for avocado toast. Twenty-six dollars for a basic omelet. And don’t even get me started on the “artisanal” coffee that cost seven dollars for a cup that was somehow both burnt and watery. In 2025, grocery prices are up 2.7%, while dining out is up 3.9%, which makes these inflated brunch prices even harder to swallow.
Service: Friendly Faces, Forgotten Orders
Our server was nice enough, I’ll give them that. She had that trendy brunch server look down pat – vintage band tee, artfully messy bun, nose ring. She took our order with a smile and promised everything would be out shortly. That was the last genuine interaction we had with her for a while. I watched her buzz past our table approximately fourteen times without making eye contact.
When we finally flagged her down to ask about our food – thirty minutes after ordering, mind you – she looked genuinely surprised that we were still there. She assured us it was coming “any minute now.” It wasn’t. The table next to us, who’d been seated after us, got their food first. Then the table on the other side of us. We were starting to wonder if we’d accidentally ordered off some secret menu that didn’t actually exist.
The Food: All Sizzle, Zero Steak
When the food finally arrived, I understood why everyone takes photos before eating. These plates were undeniably gorgeous. My avocado toast looked like it belonged in a museum. The colors were vibrant, the presentation was meticulous, and for about thirty seconds, I thought maybe this whole ordeal would be worth it. Then I tasted it.
The avocado was bland. The bread was cold. That fancy “activated charcoal aioli” tasted like someone mixed food coloring with mayonnaise and called it a day. My dining companion’s omelet was somehow both overcooked and underseasoned, which is actually an impressive feat when you think about it. The pancakes at the next table looked promising until I heard them complaining that they were “weirdly gummy” in the middle. Up to 63% of Instagram users snap a photo of their food before taking a bite, a trend that has played a major role in the rise of brunch culture, where the aesthetics of a dish are now just as important as its flavor.
The portions were laughable. I’m not talking “modest but satisfying.” I’m talking “did they forget half my order?” levels of small. For twenty-two dollars, I expected more than three small pieces of toast and a handful of arugula arranged artistically on an oversized plate.
The Coffee Situation: A Crime Against Caffeine
Let’s talk about that seven-dollar coffee I mentioned earlier. I’ve had gas station coffee that tasted better. I’ve had instant coffee that had more character. This was supposed to be “single-origin, ethically sourced, hand-roasted” beans from some remote mountain region. What it actually tasted like was hot brown water with a hint of disappointment.
Sales of coffee machines are projected to grow by $1.8 billion between 2024 and 2029, suggesting that young consumers are investing in quality equipment to replicate cafe experiences at home. After this experience, I completely understand why. When you’re charging premium prices, the bare minimum should be coffee that doesn’t taste like it was brewed three hours ago and left on a hot plate. The barista even had the audacity to ask if I wanted to “enhance” my experience with oat milk for an additional two dollars. I declined. My bank account was already crying.
The Hidden Costs Nobody Warns You About
Here’s something nobody mentions in their glowing reviews: all those extra charges that pile up. Want a side of bacon? That’s six dollars. Extra eggs? Five dollars. Substitutions? There’s a fee for that. They even charged a dollar fifty for hot sauce. Hot sauce! The condiment that sits on every table at literally every other breakfast spot in existence.
Average menu prices have risen 31% since February 2020, with research showing that a 30%+ increase was necessary just to maintain a 5% pre-tax profit margin. I get that restaurants are dealing with inflation and rising costs. But when my final bill came to sixty-eight dollars for myself alone, not including tip, I felt personally victimized by capitalism. A 2024 survey found 59% of consumers cut back on dining out, including brunch.
The Mimosa Myth: Overpriced Orange Juice
Everyone raves about the bottomless mimosas here. It’s supposedly one of their signature offerings. What they don’t tell you is that “bottomless” comes with so many asterisks you need reading glasses to see them all. First, it’s only available before eleven thirty. Second, it’s a two-hour time limit. Third, they water down the champagne so much that you’re basically drinking expensive orange juice with bubbles.
Among the priciest cities for mimosas in the country, these drinks often go for $10-$11 a pop. Here, the bottomless option was twenty-eight dollars per person. Simple math tells you that you’d need to drink at least three full-sized mimosas to break even. Good luck getting your server’s attention often enough to make that happen. I managed two refills in my two hours there, and both times required flagging down different staff members because ours had seemingly vanished into thin air.
