Brunch is what people do when they’re too hungover to sleep in. It’s a way of pretending that you don’t have a drinking problem. Hey, I’m outside the house before noon, I must be okay, right? Granted, you woke up in an alley in a puddle of someone else’s sick wearing another someone else’s underwear, but that’s what the youngsters call “Urban Camping.” And sharing is caring.
Maybe you went to a show last night. Maybe you won a drinking contest against your liver. Who can say? Certainly not you. But what does the world expect? Everyone is 12, now, except you. You’re 153.
Luckily, there’s brunch to make you feel somewhat less subhuman than you are at that moment.
Brunch was invented when restaurants realized that they had a lot of food left over from Saturday night, because people (like you) were drunk enough to order Deep Fried Pizza Wings but too drunk to actually eat them. The restaurateurs were then smart enough to realize you can put literally anything in an omelet or quiche and people will eat it as long as there are bottomless mimosas, too. There were two opposing camps on how to market this frugal recycling of last night’s dinner. On one side were the proponents of Lunkfast, and on the other, the Bruncharians. After years of bloody conflict, the Lunkfasters were conclusively defeated at the Battle of Waterbrunch. Thus, brunch was born. Along with bar scotch (pour all the leftover drinks into an empty bottle of GlenCthulhu, add some Liquid Smoke, and serve it in mixed drinks the next night) brunch is a restaurant’s best friend. This is why brunch was often eaten outside, in a table shoved up against the wall, because the restaurant really didn’t want to let people like you inside.
Since then, brunch has become both more sophisticated and more expensive. How do you navigate the warming-tray-infested waters of brunch to find the right place and successfully brunch away?
First, recognize that, because of whatever it is you did last night, your ability to think and judge is mildly to severely impaired. Fortunately, there is a group of people who have even less ability to think and judge than you. In fact, they can’t think or judge at all, stumbling through the world on blind instinct with no awareness of any existence outside of their own. These are the Yelp reviewers. But there is an option to relying on a guy who gave Les Halles one star because they didn’t have Lutherburgers and the waitress was “fugly.”
And that option is using the name of the restaurant as a guide for finding the kind of brunch you want.
Names of Restaurants Where The Brunch Happens:
- Le Brasserie
- The Rusty Scupper
- Sloppy Joe’s
- Tegan the Vegan
- Dr. Blood’s House of Pancakes
Popular Brunch Items
Omelets. A popular food entertainment at brunches is the omelet station. This sounds like you’ll be getting on board a rail car made of scrambled eggs, but the truth is actually a lot stranger. You approach a table. Behind it is a man dressed in white with a replica of a hydrogen bomb cloud on his head. This is your first clue that you’re not getting out of this unscathed. Atomic Chef asks you what you would like in your omelet. At this point, you need to remember that everything being offered as omelet stuffing is from yesterday’s menu, at best. We suggest you lean into this and order sushi in your omelet, or a margarita. If you’re not brave enough to order an omelet stuffed with fish and chips or buffalo wing sliders, you probably shouldn’t be in the omelet line in the first place.
Quiche. A quiche is what you get when an omelet has sex with a pie and then hides the baby in the oven. 40 minutes later quiche happens, just like in Altered States when Dr. Jessup comes out of the floatation tank except he’s a monkey. There’s an old saying “Toxic Masculinity Don’t Eat No Quiche.” That’s exactly the kind of bullshit that makes everyone hate men. So, hey, men, STOP IT. For fuck’s sake. Let’s move on.
Oatmeal. We’ve all done things we hate ourselves for. Saying that thing that time. Doing that thing that other time. Being born. Life punishes us plenty, but sometimes, it’s not enough. That’s what oatmeal’s for. Oatmeal is like self-flagellation for your stomach. Sometimes, oatmeal smells decent. It’s warm, so maybe you think it’s going to be good on a cold morning. You think it’s good for you and “lite,” so you’re doing yourself a favor. Then you taste it, and the disappointment sets in. Sure, maybe you dumped brown sugar and all kinds of stuff in it, but guess what? That makes it no longer very healthy (with oatmeal, healthy and tasty are inversely proportional). And it’s still really not that good. Halfway through eating it, it gets hard and cold. Now you’re basically spackling your stomach with breakfast paste. Your stomach will never forgive you.
Waffles. Waffles were invented by Dr. Gruber Wafflhaut. God bless him. Dr. Wafflhaut has an unusual condition. His fingers lacked fingerprints, which made it difficult for him to hold things. Cutlery was almost impossible for him. He really liked pancakes, but he just couldn’t eat them. He created waffles to have many ridges that he could get some traction on. But Dr. Wafflhaut’s embarrassing deformity is our gain. Because waffles are awesome. First, as stated above, a waffle has many teensy cupholders built into its surface, ready to be filled to the brim with maple syrup (or honey if you’re a weirdo). Second…well, really, the tiny bathtubs full of maple syrup are enough. Awesomeness achieved.
Eggs Benedict and variations. These are named after the notorious traitor to our nation, Benedict Arnold. Oh, what a rapscallion he was! If Eggs Benedict is any indication, he also had some major league kink going on. We’re guessing he liked covering himself in hollandaise sauce while rolling around on a giant English muffin. The English part of the English muffin is probably why the whole thing was named after him. As we know, he was King George III’s little bitch. He betrayed us good, mumble-talking Americans to the English by telling them about George Washington’s wooden dentures. Luckily, before Operation Termites-in-a-Cheese-Danish was executed, Arnold gave himself away to the revolutionary army by calling a bowl of potato chips “crisps.”
There are variations of Eggs Benedict where restaurants will swap out the hollandaise, Canadian bacon (Canada, Benedict? Really? Canada, too?) and English muffin for other things that were left lying around the night before: marinara sauce, salami, sushi, pita bread, lutefisk, hummus, and so on. These are then named after different backstabbing snitches, which is why you will often find a brunch menu tricked out with things like Eggs Brutus, Eggs Quisling, Eggs Iscariot, and so on.
Squirrel. There’s nothing like being served creamed squirrel on toast to make you realize you’ve been a terrible person, full of nothing but bad decisions, irresponsibility, and squirrel. You must change life. It’s time to become a better person, help Tiny Tim with his math homework, etc.
Tauntaun (Touton). We read somewhere that this is popular in Canada, otherwise known as the Frozen North. It could be a pancake made by frying bread dough in butter and then serving it with molasses, karo syrup, or jam. Or, let’s be honest, maple syrup, a great spreading pool of it. Or it might be a species of snow lizard that roams the icy, windswept plains of Hoth (somewhere north of Montreal). And is then deep fried. And served with maple syrup.
Mimosas and Bloody Marys. Most likely, you’re hungover, so a little more booze is a great idea to help get you through the day. Mimosas and Bloody Marys are traditional, because they supposedly give the impression that you’re not really drinking at 10 in the morning. Which, of course, you totally are. Here’s some truth: Orange or tomato juice are not really going to disguise the fact that your life is in a downward spiral.
Brunch is meant to be eaten slowly, as the body wakes up to the horrors of memory and recovery and being alive. Afterwards, there will be dues to pay, but we’re not thinking about that right now. We’re thinking about mimosas and bacon. Later, we’re probably going to have a serious talk with ourselves about our life choices, but that’s Later Person’s problem. Right now, enjoy the sun, the people walking by in the clean world. It’s almost enough to make you glad to be alive. Until the bill comes, and you realize you just paid twenty bucks for a piece of toast and two runny eggs.
The thing about brunch is it’s a cruel joke played on us by society. We should really all still be asleep — that’s where true joy lies. Unfortunately, if you stay in bed forever, you’ll eventually start to smell or die or something. We’re not sure BECAUSE THE WORLD WON’T LET US. So, if we have to stay alive, we’re having bacon, damn it. Maybe some bacon quiche. Some runny eggs. And wash it down with A GODDAMNED MIMOSA. YOU’RE WELCOME.