For many New Orleanians, Sunday brunch is the big socio-culinary event of the week. The free-flowing bubbly wine (it might well be French, but it’s almost never real Champagne), the music, the surfeits of food, and the lack of concern for the clock all contribute to the pleasure.

The meal’s name doesn’t need explanation. It’s the hybridization of breakfast and lunch. Or, as a restaurateur friend once described it, “lunch with a few egg dishes added to the menu.”

That wouldn’t be anythin...