Everyone plans it, brags about it, takes pictures of it for Instagram, or is otherwise forced to endure it: Brunch. What is it? Why do bitches love brunch so much? Well, lucky your resident researcher and bitch is here to do absolutely no research on a commonplace subject and just bitch about it instead.
Brunch: a portmanteau of breakfast and lunch; a meal had on the weekend at hours that would technically make it lunch if it weren’t the first meal you were having that day. Brunch can comprise any nature of sweet and/or savory fare, can include a spectrum of beverages from coffee to bottomless booze, and spans the length of a few hours. So what, you ask? What makes brunch so special? Why do people seemingly suggest it with their noses in the air?
I’m just happy I got to use the word “portmanteau.”
This may just be the Jew in me talking, but something about congregating around food in the middle of the day with your friends is what holidays – and weekends – should be made of. Besides, beats the shit out of the sad scrambled eggs and coffee that I force myself to eat before I’m truly hungry during the week. [Note: The Good Doctor makes quite possibly the best fucking eggs in the world. I’m just not a morning person.] With brunch, I have an excuse to enjoy my meal at a leisurely pace after the worst part of the day with the company of people I also enjoy, but probably not as much as the food, because sweet baby J I loves me some food. This particular genre of food gathering also includes the best kind of food: breakfast food. If you’re not a fan of breakfast foods, then good day, sir. I SAID GOOD DAY, SIR. Because you’re obviously a horrible misanthrope, and there’s nothing that I can do for you. However, if you love breakfast food and are a true American, then it may be time to hop on board the brunch train if you haven’t already.
Brunch allows you to do any number of otherwise socially shunned activities. Eat as much as you possibly can. Eat for hours on end. Drink copious amounts in the middle of the day. I’m not a fan of the bottomless boozy brunch, myself (the drinks are typically crap and the idea of getting drunk in the middle of the afternoon just sounds exhausting to this grandma), but if that’s your jam, then you get to drink socially while the sun is out and normalize that for yourself. And when your lazy ass is bloated from hours of feasting and imbibing, you can put that ass down for a nap. Treat yo’self.
The problem with brunch is that people are obsessed with it. And when people become obsessed with things, like juicing or crocs or toe-shoes, it generally makes those things suck really hard. OK those things already sucked…let me give you a better analogy. It’s like when you hear an awesome song on the radio and really enjoy it, but when the hackneyed DJ has played it for the 300th time, you want to rip your ears out of your face just to spare yourself the pain. The problem with brunch in a city like New York is that your favorite song has not only been on every radio station, but now the hipsters have appropriated it as their anthem, and Thrillist listed it as the song of the summer.
In the restaurant world, this is the curse of the devil. Your favorite brunch place is now going to be an overcrowded hot mess of entitled assholes who slow down the service, and in that domino effect, ruin the quality of the food. So to keep enjoying brunch, you have to get crafty. Find new places, keep the group attending reasonably small, and venture to less heaving parts of town. Why put in this effort? Because when you hear that song for the first time, and you really love it, you’ll do anything to keep it to yourself and make it last. Also, making a good poached egg is really fucking difficult, and my bratty ass will absolutely pay someone else to do that for me.
Well, there you have it. Some long list of excuses as to why you should stop complaining and just go along with the brunch milieu. Besides, what’s the worst that could happen? Whatever that thing is, ignore it and keep eating. This is Kitty, signing out.