Any reason to go to the Four Seasons is a good one, unless it's for the Byron Nelson, in which case, ugh. The resort's restaurant, with its towering windows letting in an endless supply of sunshine, gives us the feel-good vibe of getting out of town; it's like being in the Hill Country without the drive and all those damned hippies. We're also partial to the Sunday-morning meal that lasts till noon, and with a spread like this--seafood and sushi among the normal eggs-and-bacon-and-biscuits fare--there's no reason to leave the table till you've had enough to last till Monday; no need for dinner, that's for sure. Also, you don't even need to get a room, unless you've had a few too many Bloody Marys and need to sleep it off. Or you could just go watch some golf downstairs and fall fast asleep, your belly full and mind empty, like you've just been on vacation without having to leave the area code.
Readers' Pick
Blue Mesa Grill
Various locations
Brunch is a weird word, a mutant merging of successive events (breakfast and lunch). It's like merging beer with gut and coming up with butt, which is what years of beer guzzling will grant you, only it emerges in the wrong place and makes your belt fit funny. The brunch assortment at Ziziki's isn't as broad as a beer gut, and it isn't as cheap as Haggar Sans-A-Belt stretch slacks. But it's fresh and tight with bottomless mimosas. Everything is supple and speckled with imagination. The bar is spread with platters of fresh vegetables and fruits and smooth feta cheese, plus the steam tables are packed with delicious scrambled eggs flecked with basil and thick fluffy pancakes pocked with beer gut-sized blueberries. There are pasta dishes, dolmas, baklava, and hearty spanakopita (spinach baked with onions and feta cheese and wrapped in delicate phyllo pastry). It's enough to give you a brunch gut.
Garland may not be so small-town anymore, but it still knows comfort food as well as any farming town. More specifically, the GoldMine Family Restaurant knows its "chicken fry." Fried chicken? Sure. Fried okra? Of course. But the real gem of the golden battered is the chicken-fried steak. These babies aren't frozen wholesale steaks; they're fresh cuts dredged in a homemade batter that allows for an outer crispiness, while the steak inside is fork-tender. The cream gravy is smooth, not too thick and doesn't overwhelm the meat. The partnership is perfect--both gravy and steak are flavorful, achieving a grand and comforting harmony on the tongue.