Come Sunday morning we prefer to worship food -- specifically brunch, that holiest of meals, a testament to the healing powers of a huge spread of really awesome chow. That's why our church is Marty's Baking, our altar one of the splendidly set tables (complete with linen tablecloths and fresh flowers) back in the actual bakery part of this five-year-old operation. Amid the ovens and metal cooling racks, we feast Last Supper-style on smoked salmon, house-made granola, egg soufflé, the signature French toast, dumplings, sushi -- and, of course, bread, the staff of life, which tastes like it's been touched by the hand of God, and to deploy a terrible cliché, Marty's Baking's bread-and-butter. We're not saying Marty's is more popular than Jesus -- but when was the last time you had to make a reservation for Sunday Mass?
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