This week I have the pleasure of featuring an awesome story from an incredibly talented writer. Her name is Elena Colás and she is truly bad ass. Read her thoughts on the ever popular mid-morning meal: brunch.
Mimosas on mimosas on mimosas.
Brunch is a Battlefield
By Elena Colás
“It’s just not our meal,” he sighed.
Propped up on one shoulder she studied his eyes, still blue gray with sleep. Determined though she was, she knew he was telling the truth.
They had mastered the art of dinner. Cooking back to back in the small kitchen, shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip. Venturing out across the city on culinary fieldtrips and tastings for two. Breakfast belonged to them, the smell of sweet coffee and burnt toast hung in the air as she formed those first few hours with dough caked hands. Lunch was rarely shared but nearly always meant a day off together, and so that noon meal was truly their forte. There had been sandwiches devoured on the curb, farmers market picnics, early morning meals that stretched their golden arms and yawned well into the afternoon.
Only brunch eluded them.
Perhaps it was that the meal existed in the chilly shadow of his old job. The brutal Sunday morning schedule of an opening manager at restaurant downtown had made them both early risers- a quality which might have given them an edge over fellow diners, were he not haunted by the howls of tired children and shrill metal forks scraping up the last piece of quiche.
Asking him to brunch felt akin to inviting a Vietnam veteran on a backpacking trip through southeast Asia, though he could still appreciate a good breakfast burrito.
Even more problematic is the fact that brunch required a person to leave the house and exist in public without coffee, a drug available at even the strictest Narcotics Anonymous meetings. The journey to brunch is an exercise in deprivation, leaving little choice for the seasoned addict. Brew some at home only to take a halfhearted sip, burn your tongue and rush out the door, adding the mug to its ever- growing bedside colony. Pick up Starbucks on the way and quickly learn that the only places with bathrooms that are also open on a Sunday morning are brunch restaurants and churches, probably the two most exclusive establishments created by mankind.
There is a scientific study that correlates low blood sugar to increased fighting amongst couples, a study which was no doubt conducted in line for brunch. Offhand comments echo on the walls of angry, empty stomachs. Arguments blossom out of control without the logic of caffeine to rein them in. There is a lethal ratio of decisions to time, meaning that the tiniest choices are allowed a maximum amount of time to stew because what the hell else are you going to do on a Sunday morning but pick between sweet, or savory?
And if fate would have it that the alcohol from the mimosa reaches the brain before the coffee, god help you both.
Lying in bed memories of brunches past ran through her mind and she considered letting it go. Maybe they just weren’t “brunch people”, not destined to stagger through the farmers market like gluten-deprived zombies, drunk on organic gin bloody marys, blowing $50 on kohlrabi they would never use.
There were eggs and bacon in the fridge at home and she could make a mean biscuit. It was hot outside already, and with construction on the train there would no doubt be delays. They had slept in later than usual and were already starving, and this hour they would be guaranteed a 30 minute wait most anywhere.
It was a perfect morning for brunch.
Read more from Elena on her website: http://laaineysays.tumblr.com/
Photo cred: Culture Map Houston: http://houston.culturemap.com/news/restaurants-bars/04-20-13-the-best-party-brunches-in-houston-when-the-morning-after-needs-to-have-a-groove/
Young, Drunk and Hungry 