During the Christmas break, a friend was telling my parents about the eggs benedict at Glo’s, which he thinks are worth the legendary line. My dad’s eyes lit up — the man loves a challenge as much as he loves hollandaise sauce — and so of course that was where we had to go on Sunday morning.I came along under protest, since I normally tell people I’ll never step foot in that place again. Even though I think the Capitol Hill diner’s eggs benedict merit their reputation, the sight of so many workers in such a small space standing around, chatting with one another, while customers wait for food goes against every ounce of my work ethic. Or maybe I’m just bitter about the last time I went, hung over from a long night out with an out-of-towner, and had to suffer for 90 increasingly queasy minutes before receiving any food. The sight of a cook taking a full minute to slice one tomato had me hyperventilating.This weekend, I discovered that if I sat with my back facing the wait station and the kitchen, I could keep myself distracted for the better part of the hour that passed between sitting and eating. But the question remained: What in the HELL are they doing back there?I love it that Glo’s fruit salad is arranged just so, and that the eggs are perfectly poached, but I cooked weekend brunch for a year at a restaurant that did food of a similar caliber at a higher volume. So I’m baffled why it would take the kitchen 60 minutes to prepare food for the 20 people before us. Do the cooks not prep ahead? Do they whisk their hollandaise sauce to order? Is Glo’s the only kitchen on the planet where multitasking is forbidden? While the service was super friendly, to wait for the food for an hour and then to have the waitress drop off the check five minutes after it arrived, with a “Now, there’s no ruuuuussssh…” brought back the shortness of breath thing. Apparently, outrage isn’t good for my allergies.