On the food writing side, it’s admittedly odd that I’d never been to Oddfellows. Not until last weekend, that is, when I made it in for brunch.

I was disappointed, though, that there wasn’t anything particularly odd on the menu. (That’s actually my ongoing brunch gripe, making me wonder why so many people line up weekly for eggs and French toast.) The Specials board lists eggs Benedict as the special. That’s kind of odd, as it’s not so special. It’s common. Common enough that a few people told me that eggs Benedict always seems to be Oddfellows’ brunch special.

At the front of the line, I quizzed the cashier. She liked the baked eggs best, recommending those. Or French toast if I was looking for something sweeter. I hesitated. “Oh, savory?” she asked, adding “Try the French dip.” I paused, then asked about the oddball sandwich. “It’s indulgent,” she said.

Enough said. I ordered the one item that’s labeled “odd.”

So what does Oddfellows’ oddball sandwich teach us about sex?

It’s all about what’s normal.

Two decades ago, when I worked for Planned Parenthood, I showed the films “Am I Normal?” and “Dear Diary” to prepubescent kids. Corny as the films were, they busted apart myths about changing bodies, and were better than the sex education I got at that age: nothing.

That “Am I Normal?” question is still the most typical one I get today in my work with college students. And the question persists throughout adulthood.

Take, for example, fetishes. Since we don’t tend to talk openly about sex (at least constructively), we don’t know if what turns us on is normal or not.

In last week’s Sexy Feast, I wrote about formicophilia. Did you look it up, as I suggested? If not, it’s a fetish about having insects crawl over your body.

Maybe that’s crazy. It’s just one of an endless number of fetishes. Some people have a foot fetish. Or, perhaps, the opposite (a form of acrotomophilia–an attraction to amputees).

How about fetishes involving sex and food? Some people are into sploshing (covering themselves and their partners with wet and messy things like honey, spaghetti, cranberry sauce, and baked beans), while others are into vorarephilia–aroused by the idea of being eaten, eating their partners, or watching others get eaten. Makes you think about the “Vora” part of “Voracious” in a whole new way, doesn’t it?

I’m fine with fetishes, as long as moving from fantasy to reality is consentual and non-violent. It’s good to have an indulgent fantasy life.

As for the oddball sandwich, it featured a nice loaf of bread that did well, actually, in holding together the meatballs, marinara, and melty mess of provolone. Far from odd, it was completely normal. Though as I think back, the cut in the bread and the way it was filled made it look like a vagina, and the balls were tasty. But we’ll indulge more in balls next time.

First published in Seattle Weekly’s Voracious on April 7, 2011.

This hidden gem in the shadow of the Space Needle offers two types of Dutch babies. The sweet offering was banana with an option of candied walnuts. The savory option has featured items like duck confit and goat cheese in the past, but this day’s was a combination of bacon and green onions.

I toiled with the tough decision until one of my dining companions blurted out, “You’ve gotta get the savory one. You can get a sweet Dutch baby anytime.”

Savory it was, though with a little pour of maple syrup on the side to add sweetness to the soufflé-like dish. The Dutch baby arrives cute in its own little cast iron pan, a puffy pancake with a crispy crust on the top and a delightfully custardy texture inside.

So what does Tilikum Place Café’s Dutch baby teach us about sex?

It’s about time.

In my lectures to college students, I outline three conditions (all beginning with the letter “A”) to meet before being ready to have sex:

• Affirm: You need to affirm the other person–which means knowing their name (and not using alcohol as a social lubricant), being able to do it with lights on, and being able to look the other person in the eyes.
• Accept: You must be willing to accept responsibility–which is using birth control if needed, preventing the spread of STIs, and obtaining consent.
• Assure: You must ensure mutual pleasure–because you’re not in just for your own pleasure, but you want to bring pleasure to the person you’re with.

These conditions are actually relevant not only for young people, but everyone. And once these conditions are met, there’s then a fourth “A”: Anytime.

Anytime is the right time for a Dutch baby. Or a waffle. Or even cereal.

When something brings pleasure like a Dutch baby does, why relegate it to breakfast only? You can get a Dutch baby at Tilikum until 3pm. Maybe, if you ask nicely, they’ll serve you one in the late afternoon or evening.

It’s the same with sex. Don’t relegate it to the same time, every time. Mix it up. Break out of your routines. As with a Dutch baby, anytime is the right time for sex. (And, I might add, anywhere–but that’s a topic for another time.)

No…no Meat Loaf served, but definitely a meat-filled brunch. Tops was the banh mi ($9). This came as a surprise, since on a value scale I couldn’t imagine paying more than my usual $2.00 for a BBQ pork sandwich at one of my favorite places in Little Saigon. But did I mention that Fresh Bistro’s version is made with pork belly? The belly’s braised, lending its luscious layers of fat to the depth of the sandwich. There’s a fried egg for the bacon-and-eggs effect, as well as the usual: pickled carrots, daikon, cilantro, and jalapenos—though this was a little more salad-y than most with the addition of cucumbers and romaine. Oh…and foie gras mayonnaise, though the foie feeling was lost amidst all the other ingredients. A super sandwich overall, and I liked the snappy little salad on the side. Sadly, the banh mi now appears to be off the brunch menu, though it survives on the lunch menu.

I also enjoyed the sopes ($12). This isn’t something I would have been inclined to order on my own, but I’m glad I got to try them. Lots of textures and flavors coming from the fried masa cake topped with shredded pork, summer squash, kohlrabi slaw, roasted tomatillo salsa and cotija—along with black beans, Spanish rice, and the ever-present, ever-delightful fried egg.

What I looked forward to most was actually my least favorite: the bibimbap ($12). This Korean mixed rice bowl wasn’t bad, with its egg (again!), quick kimchi, enoki mushroom and bean sprout salad, and Korean chili paste. But I would have liked just a little more of the delicious, kalbi-grilled wagyu flank steak, as well as a bit more bite from the sauce. (Perhaps slower kimchi or more Korean chili paste is the answer?) The biggest disappointment, though, was that Fresh Bistro’s bibimbap is made with brown rice. Brown rice? Who eats that stuff? Chef Dalis Shea does, apparently. And I guess others do as well. But for me, brown rice is just a little too healthy, and a mismatch for the dish; its full-bodied, earthy flavor doesn’t allow the other ingredients to “pop” as they do with plain, white rice. Brown rice: there ain’t no way I’m ever gonna love you.

Nevertheless, as far as Fresh Bistro’s brunch goes, don’t be sad, cause two out of three ain’t bad.

That’s what I said when I heard that Dahlia Lounge was cooking up congee for brunch.

Monkey bread? Makes sense. Eggs Benedict? Elegant. But congee? Can it be any good?

In a word: Yes. I often complain about the quality of Chinese food in Seattle, so it’s sort of strange that Chef Tom Douglas is the one to get it right. (But maybe not. He loves Asian food.) Those five dollar bowls of congee in the International District aren’t bad, so it’s fair to expect more from a fourteen dollar bowl.

Douglas delivers. Everything’s made in-house except for the Chinese doughnut (oily, but providing crispy goodness in contrast to the creamy congee). This bowl’s got grilled prawns, poached egg, and green onions, but what really ups the ante is the fermented black bean sauce. Trust me. The sauce adds incredible depth and flavor to the soup.

This is not a dumbed down food bowl. In contrast to many restaurants which insist on leaving out “foreign” ingredients it fears its customers might not like, Dahlia Lounge pays homage to authenticity, turning congee into comfort food that somehow feels right at home next to that monkey bread and eggs Benedict.

Rover’s recently added brunch service, and when Rautureau suggested I give it a try, how could I resist? He treated my dining companion and me to a tasting menu of sorts: both of us enjoyed three courses of smaller portions (enabling more sampling) spread out over a leisurely Sunday morning. It’s the type of meal Rautureau wishes we could all experience everyday. The French way, if you will. (Recent research shows that the French eat and sleep more than anyone else among the world’s richest countries.)

Out came plate after artistic plate: smoked King salmon with chive creme fraiche; poached egg with braised pork belly, sauteed spinach and harissa Hollandaise; and preserved stone fruit crepes with creme fraiche chantilly cream.

And out came, frequently, the cheerleading chef himself. I watched as Rautureau checked in with every table, greeting his customers and asking what they thought of the food.

Brunch at Rover’s doesn’t come cheaply. (A pair of poached eggs runs in the mid-teens; a better value, if you can afford it, is the two-course or three-course brunch at $25 and $35, respectively.) And it’s not the place to go if you’re seeking big, bold flavors. This is classic French fare, beautifully presented, with an emphasis on seasonal ingredients. A chance to treat yourself to Shigoku oysters and Dungeness crab salad on a Sunday morning.

But it’s the bacon that’s been the most enduring memory of the meal. The prized pork is hiding at the bottom of the “Sides” menu: pecan and cherry wood-smoked bacon for $5. Oh, that marjoram duck and pork (we call it dork) sausage was also good, but despite swelling stomachs, I couldn’t stop stealing bites of that pure pork plate. The bacon’s made in-house at Rover’s; I even got a behind-the-scenes tour of the kitchen and saw all the charcuterie action.

I asked Rautureau the secret to his bacon, and he simply flashed his quick smile and said, “No secret.” But I can tell you that Kurobuta is part of it. See the striations in the photo? A perfect balance of meat and fat led to a bacon explosion in every bite.

No batter dishes here; Chef Phillippe Thomelin is doing the egg, cheese, potato and bacon thing with his uniquely Spanish flair (with French and Italian influences thrown in for good measure). The tortillas (think omelets) are satisfying, with a choice between the Francesa (Comté cheese, mushrooms, bacon and chives) and the Andaluza (grilled chorizo, Yukon potato and fried onion). There’s also a Croque Monsieur, which can sex-change to a Croque Madame with the addition of a fried egg. My favorite on the menu, though, is patatas al lo Pobre: pan-fried Yukon potatoes with Anaheim peppers (I like their heat in contrast to the usual bell peppers), chorizo Riojano and fried eggs. When the dish first came to the table, I thought the chorizo was Chinese sausage, which got me excited and confused. Nice flavor, but a little too long to the chew; I wonder if crumbled chorizo might be a better fit—or perhaps, even better, some morcilla?

If two go, I recommend one person getting one of the salads to help balance the meal, as the other dishes are a bit heavy. The ensalada de endibias has endive, Valdeon blue cheese, apple and walnuts—blissful for the blue cheese lover. Even better for me was the classic frisée with bacon, croutons, roasted shallot vinaigrette—and poached eggs.

Entrees range from $8-10, though a better bet might be the prix fixe option of any entrée plus drip coffee, fresh (and pulpy) orange juice, and ensaimada (Majorcan pastry) for $15 (tax and tip not included).

In his gritty Kitchen Confidential, Anthony Bourdain describes brunch as “punishment block for the ‘B’-Team cooks” who salvage “old, nasty odds and ends” to create dishes that sometimes include hollandaise, which he warns “is a veritable petri-dish of biohazards.”

For this month’s Dish-Off, I set off to four restaurants with Bourdain’s and my own prejudices in tow, hoping to find a brunch that might change my mind. Like Bourdain, I eat everything, sometimes subjecting my stomach to some weird stuff. But while I love food, I don’t love brunch. Why? My reasons are myriad.

First, brunch is like a glorified Grand Slam breakfast. More often than not, it’s French toast with sausage; heck, even my non-cooking dad managed to break out the Wonder bread to make that every Sunday morning. On my recent visit to Veil, the cooks have brioched the staple up, serving a lavender-scented version that seems to suit the setting; with pastel-colored flowers and pink touches amidst floating white fabric, I feel lost in the layers of a bride’s wedding gown. But where’s the beef? For another twelve bucks, you can order a trio of Moroccan-spiced lamb sliders (yum!) that are crying out for a side of potatoes. I find those, rustically prepared, in a duck confit hash (16 dollars more) that makes me want to scream in joy. But I can’t. The food is good, but the space, like the service, is a bit cold, and I’m silenced by its subdued nature.

Second, I don’t like the word “brunch,” and eating it cheats me out of a meal. (Hey, who’s up for “linner”?) Was brunch created for the hangover crowd wanting an excuse to start the day late with a Bloody Mary? If that, in fact, is the purpose of the meal, Moxie got it right, as I love the Mama Lil’s pickles they drop in the drink. But, while this restaurant might be more romantic at night, by day the dark walls, cement floor, and lounge music (set just a little too loud) give me a bar vibe. I’m surprised when the kitchen sends out two similar dishes fitting the atmosphere: chilaquiles and the chicken enchilada special. Clearly a step up from what I can get at nearby Peso’s (perhaps the true hangover joint), but still reminiscent of pub grub. And while my casually dressed and demeanored server is enthusiastic, I wish it were the menu items in this “food with nerve” eatery that had just a little more moxie.

Third, I’m not fond of live jazz accompaniment to my meals. Seeing a sign  that promises as much outside of Serafina makes me tense. Will the music be loud? Relaxing? Good? Once inside, though, my tension eases. I smile as I see the brilliant color of fresh-squeezed orange juice in a pitcher at the bar. A table by the window is perfect. And the food is consistently good. Crisp ham baskets (filled with polenta and mushrooms) topped by poached eggs are playful, and sea scallops with Prosecco-grapefruit sauce are a special treat. I especially like the strata con uovo: prosciutto bread pudding with eggs over easy, sitting in a rich spinach sauce. Wow, that sauce is really green! In combination with the whites of the eggs and the reds of the delicate tomato slices, I’m transported to the Italian countryside. Serafina—meaning “fine night” in Italian—is alive on this fine morning: color jumps out on the table and in the tapestries, people talk and laugh, light streams in, and servers smile and nurture. I’m comfortable here. I can linger. And—would you believe?—in the background, the jazz is actually pleasant.

Fourth, brunch is basic. I was an inn-sitter in Vermont, so I’m known for making a wicked waffle or salmon-and-egg scramble. Why go out for what I can whip up at home, I wonder, until I go to Café Campagne and taste the oeufs en meurette. Now we’re talking. A couple of beautifully poached eggs sit on garlic croutons floating like lilypads in a pond of red-wine foie gras sauce. The pearl onions, bacon and mushrooms add intense flavor. Let’s see: I’ve got eggs, bread, meat…all I need to complete the quartet are potatoes. I’m admiring the dish so much, I overlook the basket of pommes frites until the waiter asks if I want garlic aioli with it. This is best of the brunch bunch. This meal is hearty, and I’m happy. Café Campagne also does croques and quiches accompanied by fresh, simple salads I like. It’s a great place to get a good start in the city, though with its bustling (yet thoughtful) service and noisy atmosphere (silverware clanging and voices climbing), I wish Café Campagne was a little more campagne and a little less cité.

Oh, and in case you had any doubt, Café Campagne also serves French toast. In fact, it’s what the two people seated next to me both ordered. I don’t understand why couples ever order the same exact item—especially French toast—when there’s so much more on a menu to explore. And four French toasts after my brunch binging, I still don’t understand why people normally in a rush stay hushed in line an hour or more to pay such a steep price for something so simple to make at home. C’est la vie! I’m happy to have found a couple of options I like next time someone insists I leave home to head out for brunch. Just hold the hollandaise, please.

WINNER: Serafina.

(Note: Veil is now closed.)