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March 13, 2006 | by  | in Opinion |
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Bran-Power

Last week Bran-Power looked at trying to find out which beer is the best for you, the consumer. Due to unforeseen drunken circumstances, the review was unable to come up with a concrete conclusion. However, this week Bran-Power soldiers on to look at hangover breakfasts. As per usual, this will have to be done on one sitting to limit the impact of variables.

Epic Breakfast
I’m not usually one for hangovers – don’t believe in them – but there was a weird feeling in my stomach. Not quite Tui squirts, but weird enough: one should never forget the drinking maxim, thou shalt not mix alcohol. Epic is a nice, leisurely way to start a breakfast marathon. Of course the staff there are a nice, leisurely bunch of nice-looking lasses. It appears to me that attractive people have an advantage in getting hospitality jobs. It’s amazing that no one complains – I’d rather my food looks attractive. Of course, I can claim that me not getting a job at Epic is due to vicious racism and a superficial society, rather than acknowledging the fact that I look like mashed up squid.

The food takes a while as my stomach/liver rues the drinking. Can’t you see I’m a reviewer, and not your typical hungover person? Or maybe they serve their attractive clientele first. Well, the food is pretty damn good when it does arrive. Their berry compote (which sounds remarkably similar to furry compost) pancakes are excellent. They fill me up nicely. This however hammers home the fact however that petrol prices are so high nowadays that students just can’t afford to fill a full tank. The cost isn’t bad, especially considering how much food you get there. I need a drink to wash it down with. Beer?

Mr. Bun
Aside from hearing how Germans apparently don’t like New Zealand women (probably too non-Aryan for them), there was nothing eventful in the walk from Epic to Mr. Bun. I’m interested in meeting this Mr. Bun – who and where does he come from? What is his nationality? Does he realise his name also means a bready, doughy food that is occasionally eaten at breakfast? It’s a remarkable coincidence – the type I need to point out to people. It was like the time I discovered the remarkable coincidence that Jack and Meg White are in the White Stripes. The unfortunate thing is that Wellington is quite small. This meant it doesn’t take very long to walk from Epic to Mr. Bun, so the aforementioned berry compote pancakes have not been totally digested yet. Never fear! I will soldier on and hope that Mr. Bun takes a long time to make his food. Unfortunately Mr. Bun appears to employ people of Oriental descent. I love making generalisations, so this suggests the meal will be quick, efficient and compact. For example, it’s no real surprise that a haiku is from Japan. The food arrives quickly, and is also well structured. Unflashy, it’s a grafter, much like Mark Richardson. And much like Mark Richardson, I take it on slowly. The bread looked bland and white – it needed some sun and some chunky bits in it. I’m emphasising the look of the bread, because I was unable to eat too much of it. The eggs didn’t go down too well either. This is a shame because some chicken endured a battery cage for me to throw most of its offspring away. Sucks to be an unfertilised egg – I aborted that one good. The hangover was still around despite the fact I’d already eaten an Epic breakfast and some of this Mr. Bun brekkie. In fact, my stomach feels worse. Mr. Bun is not so good.

Brooklyn Bar and Grill
Next up was the Brooklyn Bar and Grill. My stomach wasn’t feeling particularly vibrant, but I must continue on for you the reader. Plus I really needed to take a dump, but I don’t want you, the reader, to have to read this. Maybe it’s because coffee loosens the colon, or maybe it’s because I drank too much. Plus I also felt nauseous, so shit wanted to come out both ends. Because of this feeling, I thought it safer to drive up to Brooklyn. I ordered their big breakfast. I started with the tomato because not only was that mainly made up of water, but it’d also add some colouring to the reasonably foreseeable vomit. However, I couldn’t fit anything more in. The food looked good though.

JJ Murphy’s
I decided to drive down to Murphy’s. I’m sure I was ok to drive during all this, but I wasn’t tested because there are no police checks in rich areas (as opposed to Naenae or Porirua). However, I wasn’t able to get in the door and eat. I was full to the brim – a wafer thin mint would have made me explode. I’ve heard bulimia is the only diet that works and briefly considered inducing some vomit to make some room for more food. But then I didn’t want to look like Lindsay Lohan (seriously most guys like a bit of fat) or be called a ‘Regurgitator-Reeker’. It was about time I sorted my shit out away from the public eye.

Out-sitting: Aro Café, Midnight Espresso, Espressoholic (I didn’t want to go there anyway), New World and McDonalds.

Post-script: I ate half a pie for dinner from the Caltex in Newtown. Chicken pies aren’t particularly nice either.

Next week: Bran-Power looks at Diets

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About the Author ()

Brannavan Gnanalingam has come a long way from being born in the teeming metropolis of Colombo, Sri Lanka. He may be known as feature writer for Salient, but is also the only man in history to have simultaneously donated both his kidneys. He is also an amateur rapper going under the moniker Brantank and hopes to win a Grammy.

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