Tolon: everyone is happy at brunch…

I went to brunch on a Sunday morning. Brunch is the liminal space that appears, like magic, on weekends between what otherwise is referred to as the breakfast and lunch hours. Brunch is a thing that people like to do, especially on Sunday mornings and especially if they drank the night before. Unlike so many, I did not drink the night before and I did not simply fall out of bed and stumble into a brunch with my nearest and dearest by happenstance. I planned for this day. My brunch was born of weeks of thought and days of preparation. I had a reservation, even though I was showing up very early in the brunching hours–because that’s what my schedule allowed for and I believe reservations are a practice that encourages mutual respect of time. (Restaurants respect the diners’ time, diners respect the restaurant’s time, and everyone wins.) I anticipated how many hours the meal might take: probably one, but certainly no more than two. I sat with the restaurant’s menu and calculated the potential cost should my dining companion and I choose to have the most expensive wine, a small plate to share, and the most expensive entrees. I even added the additional cost of what dessert would be if we chose to partake, knowing full well we very likely wouldn’t. I calculated the maximum cost, added twenty percent tip, and made sure there was enough cash in the bank account to allow for the outing. That is how I enjoy brunch these days: infrequently and with meticulous planning. 

In my youth, I took for granted the nights where I’d drink to excess and wake up late (and only slightly groggy) the next morning, stumble to a brunch of epic proportions, and never once have to check my bank account. We take so much for granted, don’t we? A whole different person than I once was, I recently made the quick (wide awake, alert, enthusiastic, and sober) walk from the car to Tolon. My dining companion and I were seated in the front room, pop-art of Jack Nicholson in The Shining and a tattooed Marilyn Monroe hanging on the walls and providing excellent eye-candy. Sunshine flooded the little alcove and created a cozy, quaint environment for a late morning meal. Water was poured in stainless steel wine glasses which kept it crisp and cold. We glugged it, eagerly. Am I the exception to the rule or do we appreciate water more with age–especially deliciously cold water? I observed other diners around me: couples or small groups. They all looked exceedingly relaxed–calm, cool, lackadaisical, and so certain that the day that lay ahead of them would be sunny and unserious. They looked ready to chill out and take their time over a delicious spread. They looked happy. Everyone looks happy at brunch. It’s like there’s some cosmic rule that you can’t be sad when you’re eating brunch. 

My dining companion ordered a Champagne Velvet. They sipped it and loved it, which I found really annoying. Months ago I’d suggested it to them at another meal we shared. They ordered it and liked it: but felt the need to make it entirely clear to me that they didn’t love it. But at brunch, suddenly they loved this beer–and I’m entirely certain that it’s because I didn’t suggest it and they chose it themself off the menu, forgetting that they’d tried it before. They always prefer things that they ‘find themself’ to things that I suggest. Either way, it’s an exceptional beer. While I batted around the idea of having a Bloody Mary, I thought it best to save the experience for a future taste test with my Bloody-Mary-buddy. Instead, I opted for a glass of Pinot Noir: the Belle Glos Clark & Telephone Pinot Noir, to be precise. I’ve had this wine before and it’s really cementing itself as one of my preferred Pinot Noirs. It gives all the typical things you’d expect from a Pinot Noir: red fruit and spice. But, this particular wine also provides notes of chocolate covered blueberries and, perhaps, just a hint of maple syrup drenched pancakes–so I’m fully obsessed with the layers uncovered in each sensational sip. 

To start our meal, we opted for a plate of Duck Fat Frites. As our waiter said, “Everything’s better with duck fat.” Accentuated with smoked sea salt and a side of duck egg and basil aioli, these may very well be the best fries available in Fort Wayne. I said what I said, but will qualify the compliment with two caveats: 1) I have many more fries I must try before I truly call the race and 2) I love fries. Even questionable fast food fries sometimes hold a special place in my heart. Still–these frites are special. Where Tolon wins, aside from the frites’ utter perfection, is the portion size. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve gone somewhere, ordered fries, and then been beyond disappointed at the proportion of fries that I receive. At Tolon, the exact opposite occurred. I ordered a plate of fries and, when it arrived at the table, I was shocked to the point of an audible gasp and a muttered, “Whoa.” The portion is massive–not so massive that two fry-obsessed weirdos couldn’t smash it before the end of brunch–but huge enough that the towering plate of frites made an impact. It filled us with awe and excitement. The perfectly crisp, yet delightfully fluffy-tender frites were salted to perfection, creating an elegant balance of fatty-salty-goodness. The aioli was just delicately herbaceous enough to provide a stimulating jolt of creamy-botanic-delicousness whenever we elected to dip one of our frites, which was often. 

My dining companion opted for the Nashville Hot Chicken and Waffles and was not disappointed. (Probably because they made the choice themselves and I didn’t suggest it… I’m teasing, of course.) A rectangular buttermilk waffle–we all agree, the shape of a waffle is almost as important as what’s in the batter–with two pieces of chicken perched on top. We’ll either call them “the largest tendies anyone has ever seen” or “chubby cutlets.” Either way, they sat on the waffle in all of their spicy-chile-paste-rubbed, no-bones glory. Nothing but a little whipped honey butter and local maple syrup was needed to bring the components of this dish together in cohesive-yumminess. We’ve eaten a lot of chicken and waffles in our time–probably too much. This was certainly a scrumptious execution of the Southern classic. 

As for me, I opted for the Blackened Shrimp and Grits. It’s a favorite of mine, though it’s atypical of me to order it anywhere other than New Orleans. I suppose it could be said of me that I like good Shrimp and Grits and everything else is just upsetting. Nobody wants to be upset at brunch–not in this economy. If I didn’t trust Tolon, I wouldn’t bother ordering the Shrimp and Grits. A heaping pile of heirloom cheddar grits sits like an island in a dark sea of bordelaise–that classic French, red-wine based sauce you’ve perhaps eaten before with a big, juicy steak. A 63 degree egg is nested in the grits, waiting in eager anticipation to be poked or prodded so that it may ooze its liquid-gold center over the cheesy grits, creating a sauce of itself. The term “63 degree egg” comes from the temperature at which the egg is cooked in a sous vide bath. After a lengthy lounge in the warm bath, the egg white should be just safely cooked, while the yolk remains deliciously creamy and oozy. On this particular day, my egg was just slightly overcooked, resulting in more of a jammy texture. Delicious, none-the-less, but I really missed out on the benefit of having the golden-nectar of the yolk gush out and mingle with the cheesy grits. Even when we try our very best, not everything will be perfect all the time. I’ll quote myself here, “I’m human and I’m built to fuck up.” None of us are perfect–but can a single element of a dish be imperfect, a mistake even, and the overall effect of the dish still be overwhelmingly positive? To this, I cry a resounding, “Yes!” The real pièce de résistance of this plate is, of course, the shrimp: large and tender, with just a suggestion of flavorful blackening on their edges. Interspersed throughout the array of shrimp, you’ll find bits of andouille sausage–providing exciting texture and heat–and a sprinkling of green onions. I always want more green onion–but that’s a personal issue and not an indictment on the dish in any way. I have a problem. I have an insatiable hunger for green onions. At its worst, this dish is delicious; though my egg was jammy instead of oozy, I still devoured my meal. The texture of the egg doesn’t alter the absolutely superb flavors at play in this plate. With an oozy egg, at its absolute best, I’d wager this is potentially one of the best brunch plates you’ll find in Fort Wayne. 
Brunch at Tolon is dreamy and I need to go back ASAP. There are menu items that call to me that I have yet to try–and I’m not sure how much longer I can wait. Once, I’d like to go just for the Bloody Mary and maybe another plate of those magnificent Duck Fat Frites. Perhaps, we could brunch together some Sunday? Here’s how it will play out: we’ll split the buttermilk drop biscuits. I’ve not yet had them, but surely they’re delicious and a reasonable way to begin a brunch. Then you’ll order the steak tacos–because I’ve heard good things and I’m very curious, but ultimately my energies are focused elsewhere. I’ll get the steak and eggs. We can trade bites, if you like me enough to do that and bask in all the farm-to-table splendor that Tolon has to offer. Another Sunday we’ll go back to try the Dutch Baby–maybe closer to Christmas time, so that afterward we can watch that Christmas episode of Bob’s Burgers where Linda orders a Dutch baby and says the classic line, “Aww, it’s a preemie, like Jesus.”  It’ll be a great time. If there’s one thing of which I’m certain: brunch at Tolon is always a great time. They operate on the principle that food brings people together. Never have truer words been spoken. Together, with people you care about, sharing delicious food on a Sunday morning–how could you be anything but happy? Everyone looks happy at brunch, but everyone is happy when brunching at Tolon.