I’m not sure who invented brunch, probably Einstein or Leonardo da Vinci, but whoever that person was they should have a day named after them. It’s the greatest meal in our gustatory repertoire and you know this by the fact we only do it once a week. It’s the Thanksgiving of non-holiday meals, a semi-rare feast of whatever your mouth desires.
First, let’s discuss the rules of brunch. It should begin by 1:30 pm. If you’re seated by 2 it counts. The only other rule is no judging. Brunch means anything goes, a Wrestlemania cage match at the breakfast table. What’s the equivalent of hitting someone in the back with a folding chair? Simple, hollandaise sauce on pancakes. You want a good tag team match? Look out for Chicken and Waffles! Let’s get ready to rumble.
Chicken and waffles are only the beginning of the pairings you can try. At brunch, you can make choices that would get you banned from certain countries for life. Order combinations that raise your waiter’s eyebrows. Zig with a light, healthy start then zag with enough sugar to put the place into a coma. “I’ll have the egg white frittata with tomatoes, black olives, and feta.” The waiter is about to move on to someone else and then you hit him with phase two. “And, ANNND, an order of French toast with strawberries and mascarpone.” Request an extra container of maple syrup for safe measure. As the magnitude of your order sets in and your waiter gathers himself enough to write it down, go for the coup de grâce, “Oh, and a side of bacon.” He will one day tell his grandchildren about you.
Freestyle to your cardiomyopathy’s content. If you feel the need for a bit of international travel, order the huevos divorciados and a dutch baby with bacon and runny camembert. Once your waiter recovers from his fainting spell, request a margarita on the rocks to wash it all down. The chef will come out from the kitchen at some point to shake your hand.
Oh, that’s right, my friend, you can get boozy at brunch and I’m not talking mimosas. Irish coffee is child’s play. Do you know what pairs nicely with steak, eggs, and hash browns? A Tom Collins. Are you considering Louisiana-style grillades and grits? Here’s a New Orleans Fizz to make it complete. Breakfast burrito? Sangria, por favor. Is the croque madame tempting your tastebuds? Then might I suggest a greyhound to slake your thirst? Don’t be shy about ordering another round. Remember rule number two, no judging.
A fringe benefit of eating like Caligula is someone inevitably suggests moving the orgy to the bar. You’re already two mojitos in with enough food in your belly to feed a family of four so you might as well enjoy the pleasantries of day drinking with your bipedal friends. You guys don’t get to do this kind of thing very often. Indulge a little and then go home and sleep it off.
Moreover, brunch is the one thing that unites morning people with normal people. You can roll out of bed at 11:30 and meet someone who has been up since 6 am and you can have coffee together. This is a peace-in-the-Middle-East moment in which people from all different walks of life can agree on one thing — brunch is good.
You shouldn’t worry about the health implications either. Brunch is intermittent fasting for people who aren’t annoying. You are doing the same time-restricted eating as Joe Rogan and his ilk but you’re ending your health kick with pancakes and screwdrivers. Whatever day you’re brunching, that day is your cheat day. Even Dwayne The Rock Johnson has a cheat day. Life is too short for oatmeal all the time.
As you can see, the wonders of brunch are limited only by the constraints of our imaginations and the depths of our depravity. Brunch is the pinnacle of civilization, representing humanity at it’s best — bursting with creativity, brimming with camaraderie, and ecumenical in acceptance. We must honor the great minds like Marie Curie and Galileo who made this possible by calling up our friends and setting a date to get cockeyed over pastries, pork, and plates of yumminess. Bon appétit, you beautiful people.