If You Name It, It (aka Disaster) Won't Come. A Breakfast Prayer.

Brunches can be treacherous. As I've previously written, it's hard to deal with high volume before noon. But 2 Sunday brunches ago, real disaster befell the Keith McNally brunch empire when the truck carrying the breads for Balthazar and Pastis and his other restaurants got stolen as the driver stepped out to make his first delicious delivery. What would one do with stolen Balthazar croissants? Re-sell them as your own at a farmer's market? Donate them to the poor masses before they go stale? Use them as leverage when you tell McNally he will hire Furio the cheese-maker? Give them to that woman trying to be the fattest person EVER as a charitable donation to her cause?

It wasn't headline news- but do an internet search for "brunch disaster" and brief articles about the theft from the New York Post and from The Village Voice will pop up. I can only hope that nothing close to this happens to me today. (As a side note, since this weekend was a balmy one driving many to the Hamptons or to air-conditioned hibernation, I'm hoping brunch will be a quiet one.)