Do you spend your time scrolling incessantly through Yelp reviews and pictures, cursing Kathy P. and Bryan Simpson from Bushwick, as in, Brooklyn New York, for commenting on the palatability of a grass-fed lamb burger topped with harrissa mayo, pickled onions, gruyere cheese and finished off with a fried egg, but not uploading a complimenting photo of it?
Have you become detached from Saturday night’s company, instead turning attention to your Sunday Funday’s Main Brunch BitcheZ, subtitle: bring on the chorizo and chia benedict’s Groupme chat?
Do you call sandwiches sammies and take your mimosas only one way: bottomless?
Do you have a Likeness account?
How many wide brimmed fedoras do you own?
Have you used the hashtag #eeeeats in the last five minutes?
If you’ve answered “yes” to at least half of one of these questions than you’re probably a Bruncher. Every Sunday, at approximately 11 am, you and your friends — I may or may not be projecting — attend the most recent brunch location opening for a two hour spectacle bearing the promise of long wait times, OJ-filled champagne flutes and locally sourced eggs. Do you not?
A recent Time Magazine article found that, “Millennials spend more time planning brunch than they do looking for a date.” Evidently, we’d rather bide our time poring over menus in pursuit of the new cronut, duffin (you know, a duffle bag filled with muffins) or waffogato than find suitable mates with which to enjoy any of the aforementioned.
And unless you live beneath a rock — and are still scrambling your eggs as opposed to baking them into a herbed frittata — you’ve noticed that Brunch has transgressed from awkward meal time to brazen phenomenon, susceptible to the gaze of FOMO.
The breakfast-lunch portmanteau has become a sacred ritual. Various restaurants offer different calibers of brunch. There are those that are all-you-can-eat. Or savory and sweet. Some are reservation friendly while others beg the question: should I be wearing my sunglasses in here? Is the house Bloody Mary strong enough to cure last night’s hangover but subtle enough to spare one tomorrow? And, of course, is the food Instagram worthy? Because #picoritdidnthappen.
I like brunch. I like stuffing my face with an amalgam of flavors and textures, but the overemphasis on the newly minted past-time has rendered it a satirical joke ripe for College Humor picking. As Leandra pointed out, brunch has become the fashion girl’s equivalent of fashion week, leaving the uninvited and uninformed straggling outside (or by the nearest Hallal truck). Lucky for fervent Yelp contributors, brunch occurs not just twice annually — every Sunday is fair game and leaves restaurants scrambling (yes) to keep their menus fresh and consumers eager.
It’s just, are we in it for the food or for the photos? Is brunch just simply an institution to keep friends connected on the one hand or assholes alienating others on the flip side? If we’re innocuously in it for the photo, is that really a bad thing? And for the love of matcha, what are you doing next Sunday?
Image via HBO