I think in Toronto, many breakfast diners give you three eggs routinely when you order anything with them on it. It is not the same in the west coast, where they only give you two, perhaps it is part of that obsession to be thin and young so much more pronounced there.
I take my Sunday brunch very seriously; this is why I try to go to Daybreak at the corner of Carlton and Church every Sunday. Yes, right kitty corner from the famous Maple Leaf Gardens. I can’t claim to have cut a great swatch of the entire city of Toronto yet, or in my many previous sojourns here over the years, but Daybreak is for me a hopping happening place, mostly because they are unabashedly friendly. And friendly is what one province boy like me, new immigrant (again??) needs and craves. It is the odd places, chockfull with mixed people where ‘community’ happens to me, even ‘gay community’ that elusive disappearing cluster with little glue that binds other than semen. It doesn’t take a lot to be friendly to strangers, especially when one is paying but the 'gay tax' seems to be more and more common and makes the bathhouse attendants, the bartenders, bouncers, and the patrons slightly sourpussed, even the prostitutes (!!)
This I find the norm here in TO and in many other places where gay men seem more barbed around each other than around 'others' - is that homophobia hangover or what? I guess we, gay men, are invested in appering in very specific ways: young, decent, affluent and other illusions that seem nothing but layers of fear, loneliness and stigma – not to mention the mere fact we are raised as males, and we know how we machos are like… Gay men seem to be having to prove ourselves to each other constantly, especially in ‘gay establishments’. We bring the 'gay tax' on.
Hence, it feels good to go to a place one doesn’t have to either contribut to, or pay the 'gay tax' and where one’s expectations are likely to be met. I mean, this is not a gay space where I expect Zac Efron to come in and shake my foundations, fall in love with me (and ditto) and move quikcly on to the next star struck candidate, all I want is some good eggs, how difficult can that be?
Short order.
Daybreak delivers each time in the hands of a handful of hard working helpers, one of them one of the friendliest lesbians in the hood, I have said hello to her in passing on the street, just the same, and one mid thirties hottie middle eastern man babe that I have also seen at the gym and he said 'hello!' I almost dropped my 25 pounds puny weights to crash my skull.
He is hot and he knows it and he is friendly – now that is a concept! – and he brings you food.
I pass on the feeble bland white Jonas Brothers or latest one hit wonders from Twilight, give me a working class dude with good eggs in his hands. In the weeks to come i will find out his name, I am a research, damn it, I am trained and qualified to do this.
Why such big deal about a joint for breakfast you might wonder? Well, I hate eating alone, furiously, desperately, chewing alone screams loneliness to me, and on a Sunday, away from my love, it hollers so deeply. In Spanish we say that the stomach is the way to a man’s heart. I love a no rush place, no putting on the dog, where gay is part of the scene, and not ‘the scene’ (I have great performance anxiety). A place that doesn’t remind me of work, where I can read a few pages of a book (today was Ian Rankin’s “Who decides right from wrong?” or people-watch and ingest my cholesterol ration for the week, my cheat day, crazy-making! I am a long term survivor, I take my kicks in any shape I can. I will go on Lipitor any day by having three over-easies in a diner over priced high restaurants with waiters sucking lemons and talking pig-French to me and bringing tiny plates that my lovely Johnny would cook in his sleep and in good measure. I am spoiled this is why I want my eggs sincere, simple and well served. If they are in the hands of the Middle Eastern man with grayish beard and tight tee, yum!
Today, when I walked out, they were blaring Miss Whitney’s “Million Dollar Bill” over the chirping crowd. We all deserve a comeback and a return, or like me, like us, a new beginning. I will be back next Sunday.
Gay tax - I love it, Francisco. Your stuff always gives me something to think about.
Posted by: jwden | October 26, 2009 at 07:56 AM