Brunch with a side of jazz

“Where do you want to go?” I asked my friend Meghan, stopping in front of Ellington’s on Eighth. “This is a jazz café. They’ve got a buffet and a brunch menu. There’s a Cuban place over there. Creole down the street. A few pubs...”

“Typical breakfast fair?” Meghan supplied. I nodded. “This is fine.”

It was spontaneous consumption, a brunch sparked by a morning run in the District and a desire to reconnect. We walked into the club, past the people sipping mimosas at the table in the window, past the threadbare, comfy chairs, past the baby grand and toward the bar. The waiters smiled as we walked up.

“You’re right on time,” said a man in brightly colored shirt, grinning broadly and showing us to a wobbly table near the fireplace in the tiny, crowded dining room. He handed us menus, lit the candle on our table and backed away smiling. Meghan looked at her menu.

“I’ve, um, been here recently,” I said. Three times in the past four weeks, to be exact. Sunday brunch at Ellington’s. Mimosas, eggs Florentine and jazz music.

It started by accident, looking for a place with salads on a Sunday morning. Deep-fried, fatty goodness? No problem. Syrup flows through the streets of Southeast. Potatoes hash. Eggs practically devil themselves in glee, but leafy greens are hard to find.

Since that fateful Sunday, I have been back. I keep going back. I have become a regular at a jazz café and I love it - from the fireplace to the patio, from the waiter who barely speaks a word of English the bluesy jazz singer up front. The place feels like a favorite pair of jeans, well-worn, faded and frayed at the seams, but the perfect fit.

Meghan glanced around at a sea of champagne flutes.

“A mimosa would be nice,” she mused.

“You get one free with your breakfast,” I replied. “Or a bellini or coffee… You don’t want coffee do you?”

We ordered our drinks and moved to the buffet, piling our plates with breakfasty goodness. We returned to our table by the fireplace, our pitcher of water, and a leisurely chat over champagne and fruit, eggs, cheese and honey-glazed veggies. In the room next door, a player tickled the ivories on the baby grand, a trumpet resounded, and soul-filled sadness filled the air.

Next week, I’ll be back.


Tag: Brunch Jazz Ellington's on Eighth