cooking

Next to jeans that have already been strategically ripped before you buy them, brunch is the worst idea ever. The concept of it truly irks me and gives me little hope for the future of mankind. That is not an exaggeration.

Firstly, I wake up early, so getting up in the morning and then waiting several hours to eat just seems stupid to me. Breakfast as a meal in and of itself is incredibly overrated to start (unlike lunch, which everyone knows is the best meal ever), so I’d just as soon eat some fruit or yogurt and be done with my morning meal. I don’t want to wait to eat my breakfast food and I certainly don’t want to wait until eleven in the morning to eat some Eggs Florentine.

Secondly, what happens to my beloved lunch if I eat brunch? It disappears, is what it happens. No one eats a lunch between a brunch and a dinner. The hungriest human on the planet can’t even swing that. So that means brunch has replaced lunch and when that happens we have anarchy and that’s when the terrorists win. So I’ll be damned if I’m going skip out on a fine tuna sandwich (to quote Jerry Seinfeld, “the entire concept of lunch is based on tuna”) just to eat some challah French toast with boysenberry compote. But that’s me. I guess I love my country too much.

Thirdly, most of the food served at brunches is so friggin’ heavy. It beats you down – way, way down. Eggs Benedict, Chai Spice Pumpkin Pancakes, Chorizo and Kalamata Olive Breakfast Burrito, House Cured Salmon with a Green Peppercorn Sauce; that entire list is a recipe for exhaustion and gas. And since the whole concept of brunch is based on eating rich, over-the-top meals, you can’t avoid this inescapable fact. (Though if I were to tell the truth, as much as I hate brunch I’d hate it even more if someone just served me a bowl of cereal on a late Sunday morning.) So that stuff just lies in your stomach all day lick a big, salty, sweet fat-filled rock. I never want to do anything after I’ve eaten brunch. All I want to do afterwards is lie down without my pants on and fart. And trust me, NO ONE wants that.

But I think the worst thing about brunch is the people who are really, really into it. People who are seriously into brunch are kind of annoying. They remind me of the people who are really into Pilates – they always have to talk about it. Brunchers love to spout off about brunch and how magical it is. Then they always have to inform you about THE place to go for brunch:

“Oh, you have to go to Hugo’s for brunch. It’s amazing. They make a four-egg frittata dish that will blow you away. You have to go.”

Really? I have to? I have to go stand outside for at least an hour waiting to eat a meal that I have no interest in eating and then pay $13.50 for it?

And these people love nothing more than inviting you over to their house for a three-hour brunch. They are so happy to be making you brunch that they border on delirium. They’ve laid out muffins and assorted pastries on a white linen table, they have fresh ground coffee and organic tea brewing, they have scented candles lit and they’ve cued up a Norah Jones playlist on their iPod. It’s excruciating. And when they pipe up and say, “I got up at 5am this morning to make my famous homemade muesli,” I know I’m in for a long Sunday.

Brunch sucks.