Why Brunch Is The Single Greatest Meal Of All Time

Bitches love brunch

Classy ladies, fierce gentlemen, and betches of all ages, the time has come to acknowledge something that we all know to be true–that brunch is the single most important meal of the day. We hold this truth to be self-evident, that all meals are created equal, except for brunch, which blows every other meal out of the fucking water. Brunch is patient, brunch is kind, and brunch is the only thing that keeps each of us from blowing chunks from last night, while simultaneously getting us drunk enough to help us face the fact that tomorrow is Monday, and Monday is hell on Earth.

Brunch hasn’t changed much since the concept was coined in Britain in 1895 by a writer named Guy Beringer in a magazine article called “Brunch: A Plea”:

“By eliminating the need to get up early on Sunday, brunch would make life brighter for Saturday-night carousers. It would promote human happiness in other ways as well. Brunch is cheerful, sociable and inciting. It is talk-compelling. It puts you in a good temper, it makes you satisfied with yourself and your fellow beings, it sweeps away the worries and cobwebs of the week.”

Or, in simpler, “The Simpsons” terms:

“It’s not quite breakfast, it’s not quite lunch, but it comes with a slice of canteloupe at the end. You don’t get completely what you would at breakfast, but you get a good meal.”

A good meal indeed. Nay, the best meal. Brunch is about so much more than eating; it’s a movement. It’s a religion. It’s a lifestyle choice. We are the ladies (and gents) who brunch, and here’s why.

The Food Variety Just Cannot Be Beat

We brunch-o-philes are all about one thing: choice. We love having options for what to order. That’s why other meals confuse the crap out of us. Most other restaurants only have one kind of food, and the variety can be lackluster, ESPECIALLY when it comes to breakfast. Eggs? Meh. Pancakes? Yawn. Waffles? Not after Belgium knocked us out of the World Cup. But at Brunch, they turn EVERYTHING out. They have anything you could possibly dream of. Sweet? How about some blueberry pancakes? Maybe we’ll slap some nutella on there too for good measure. And bacon, because fuck it, that’s why. Maybe you’d prefer savory? Wha-bam! Benedicts on Benedicts. Like, six different KINDS of Benedicts. Eggs Benny for DAYS! Omelets, breakfast sandwiches, chicken and waffles, breakfast burgers–you name it, brunch has it. Ever had breakfast nachos? You haven’t lived until you’ve tried ’em.

And all that food goes great with…

Unlimited Booze

You cannot be serious. Unlimited booze? You mean no limits? The limit does not exist? Thine kingdom of drunkenness, forever and ever? Well, most restaurants set, like, a two hour limit on this, or at least make you stop drinking once the place closes up, but you can’t beat having someone other than your wallet tell you when you’ve had enough. What better way to get over your hangover from last night and that awful taste in your mouth that you won’t tell anyone about because you’re ashamed than with unlimited mimosas and Eggs Benny? Everything feels better with endless Bloody Marys. Plus, you know, you’ve got class or work tomorrow. What a drag. And the weekend is almost over, so why not send it off in style? Stumbling back to your apartment with a belly full of booze and eggs and your best bitches is a surefire sign of a great weekend.

Day drinking. TFM. Day drinking MIMOSAS? TSTC.

There Are Different Kinds Of Brunch

You think there’s just one kind of brunch place out there? You fools, you damn fools! There’s a whole WORLD of brunch out there. Don’t like having limits put on your food consumption? Go find yourself a brunch buffet. Traveling for business? Bet your hotel has a bomb-ass brunch with your name on it. Do you think you’re a weirdo for craving Chinese food for breakfast? You are not even CLOSE to weird, amigo. I can’t even tell you how many times I’ve taken the train all the way down to Chinatown or Flushing, Queens, for some solid Dim Sum, and you Bostonites, San Fran fans, and all other cities with a midsize Chinatown know exactly what I’m talking about. Little old Asian ladies coming around with carts laden with steamers full of food? You have no fucking idea what it is, but you LOVE eating it. And it’s dirt cheap, too. I could eat Dim Sum for every fucking meal and not even give a shit about how fat I’d get. Just keep those roast pork buns coming. In my mouth, please.


As some wise bitch once said, “It’s not about the destination, it’s about the journey.” And in brunch, it’s rarely about the eggs–it’s about eating them with the people you love most in the world, your closest friends. Sitting around a table, talking and laughing with your friends, shooting the shit, recapping the weekend, talking about who got fat, who’s getting married, who’s getting laid, etc., etc., etc. There’s really no better feeling in the world, no other way to describe it. When you’re in college, you can’t take for granted that these people you’re spending every day with won’t be around forever; people move away and get married, and they post wedding pictures, cutesy engagement photos, and ultrasounds on Facebook. They turn into “those people,” jobs take over, personal stuff gets in the way, and this, that, and the other thing. Depressing, I know. But that’s why brunch with your best pals, be them gal or otherwise, is so special. It’s everyone taking an hour or two or six out of their busy schedules to eat, drink, and be merry. You can tell weekend warrior stories, tales of blistering hot hookups, and giggle about that one guy last weekend who couldn’t get it up and pissed the bed. And, naturally, you can be on the lookout for cute guys. That bartender who’s smiling at you? Buying him a mimosa might help you have some Sunday night delight.

Great friends, great drinks, and great food. And you don’t have to wake up until noon to eat it. Isn’t that what life is all about?

This bitch thinks so. In brunch we trust.

Image via The River Wolf

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New York's Hottest Club is wherever I am. Haters to the front, hunky Sailors to the back. Bow down betches. Follow this bitch on Twitter @StefonTSM

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