“At the core of it, we want to reallocate the resources that we put towards brunch into the other services we prefer to do,” explains George Christakos of Brooklyn Warehouse (2795 Windsor Street, 446-8181), the classy and casual eatery where lunch and dinner can be had, as well as, at least until the end of 2010, brunch. “There are a lot of places that do a great brunch. There’s definitely a lot of demand for it…but it can be overwhelming. We have 35 to 40 seats, so what ends up happening is there’s a line-up. It creates an atmosphere that’s rushed. Brunch seems to be that everyone wants to be in and out in 20 minutes. We do everything from scratch here, it’s really hard to do that with the expectation that some of the brunch-goers have.” Makes a lot of sense, especially from a proponent of slow food. Christakos intends to discontinue brunch come January and focus more on lunch and dinner, as well as open up an extra night for dinner, Sundays from January 9.
This article appears in Dec 2-8, 2010.
But their open-faced steak and eggs sandwich on sour dough is like the best thing ever! For the sake of humanity they should give this recipe to another restaurant!
I think you are doing the right thing by ditching brunch. Fine tune your lunch and dinner menus
Good for them. Sunday Buffets are basically a line up of piggies at a trough of chafing dishes who want to be in and out in under 45 minutes without waiting to get in. Brooklyn Warehouse is the wrong place for that kind of thing.
Good for them! Halifax diners seem to think that the measly few dollars they’re willing to shell out for food entitle them to act like spoiled little brats, and for good reason – because most restaurant owners have been pandering to them for years. Now that Brooklyn isn’t serving brunch, they’ll take their 15 bucks, go line up somewhere else, cram themselves into some other place, complain that they’re sitting too close to the next table, complain that the service is either slow or too frenzied, that the food isn’t as good ‘as that other place’, stuff their gullets and pile back into their Pontiacs 45 minutes later – eager to tell all their friends how bad the food was, digest, and start the whole thing over come next Sunday.