Hi. My name's Carol, and I love food. No, you don't understand. I love food. If I were on the Titanic, I'd be in the galley (kitchen) eating up the chocolate pudding and the roasted quail. I go to most events, activities and parties just for the food. The company and the conversation are secondary. Here, I'll try to document everything that goes into my mouth. Aren't we excited? Oh, hey, are you gonna eat that?
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Brunch, the Whistler way
My media invitation read: "The Fairmont Chateau Whistler will be hosting you for brunch on Sunday, September 4. Please meet Jennifer Tice, PR manager, at the entrance to the Wildflower Restaurant at noon."
What a Sunday Brunch it was. I was there to cover the first-ever Whistler Jazz Festival. Organizers did it right, too, taking care of the artists, the visitors, and the media with special events designed to get them all to mingle.
As a part of the media (I write about jazz on Examiner.com), I had the privilege--along with my family--to visit Whistler and have free food at Whistler's finest--twice, the first night at a fancy Bearfoot Bistro, where I'd imagine all the celebs make a beeline for. The second time was on Sunday for a brunch to end all brunches.
Was the Wildflower's Brunch as lavishly spread out as, say, the Halekulani's Orchids in Waikiki? No. They've never heard of sushi and sashimi for breakfast--these are British and French descendants for the most part--but the spread they did have in such a rich, distinguished setting was singularly out of this world and pampering.
As is my habit at brunches, I scoped out the spread with my camera first. My eye zeroed in immediately on the raw oysters with a selection of sauces, cocktail, mignonettes, next to bowls of scallops, smoked salmon and trout, and shrimp. Then, the long wooden plank of perfectly poached, delicate Eggs Benedict.
I also noticed an indigenous breakfast staple, harkening back to Britain's bangers and mash: a pot of roasted tomatoes and beans. Mmm. I could totally go for that every morning. And did this morning.
I pretty much pile-drove through three full, heaping plates of everything, then skipped dessert (carrot cake, danishes, chocolate) out of guilt--with a heaping plate full of as many raw oysters each time as I could get away with.
It's awkward talking to PR and media contacts with food flying out of your mouth, but I did my best. I mean, free raw oysters on the half shell? Come on.
What I didn't have, my husband and son dove into. My son James loved himself on a plate full of bacon, then proceeded to make his breakfast sandwiches (as he's wont to do on vacation since this summer) with some creamy scrambled eggs and a halved roll. He even tried the sausage (the darker-colored one left of the pale ones I tried). Seeing all that bacon piled high was a dream for his little bacon-loving heart.
My husband took advantage of the omelette-making and roast-beef-carving stand. He said his tomato omelette was the best he ever had. The roast beef was perfectly cooked to a medium-rare, with an option of wine-reduced au jus and some horseradish.
It was like going to Vegas in the '80s, but free and much, much more sophisticated.
We dined like kings as the house band played live jazz behind us. I could get used to this life.