I Hate Breakfast

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I hate Breakfast.

Breakfast is a waste of time and calories.

I hate even the idea of breakfast.

Breakfast is good for only one thing: thinking about lunch.

Everything about breakfast sucks.

For one: it comes too early in the day. I mean, who wants to eat a lot of food when they’re barely awake? How well do your olfactories function, or your mandibles munch, when you’re barely ambulatory?

Secondly (and this is, by far, the most important thing): Who wants to eat when you’re not even hungry? I’ve never bought, for once second, that whole “break the fast” stuff that my mom tried to shovel down my throat. No one, and I mean NO ONE, is all that hungry when first they awaken. If you’re a fully-functioning, non-hung-over adult who is rising and shining at the break of dawn, there are only three things you want to do: 1) go back to sleep; 2) relieve yourself and then enjoy a warm or slightly cool beverage; or 3) sit on the iron throne and relieve yourself further of whatever you enjoyed the night before.

The only other thing people want to do in the mornings is watch or read the news — which (next to #3 above) is just about the most unappetizing thing on earth.

No matter how you slice it, consuming food in close proximity to any of these things is the last thing on your mind.

But year after year, from the time you’re a wee one until you’re so old you’re having trouble taking a wee wee, some authoritative voice is constantly shoving the idea of breakfast down your throat even though you don’t want it.

The only thing I hate worse than breakfast is brunch.

Brunch is inexcusable on many levels.

For one, brunch is never about the food. Brunch food is, by definition, even worse than breakfast food –nothing but carbs, fat and sugar, and ten times more of it than you might consume on your own during the week. Brunch is someone’s stupid idea of a weekend, daylight happy hour for people too bad at drinking to do it after dark like a real booze-abuser.

Brunch is populated by three things I loathe: drunk women in groups, bad omelets, and cheap champagne.

Women in groups are the worst — any time you see a group of “fun-loving gals” whooping it up with mimosas in their hands, you know you’re at brunch somewhere, eating one of the 400 different ways a chef can throw eggs and bread together and overcharge for it. It is a scientific fact: the more women you see living it up in a restaurant, the worse the food.

The only thing worse than brunch is brunch with music.

Brunch should be illegal.

Next week: If you insist, I’ll have a couple of brunch recommendations for you.

 

BRUNCHWATCH: Brunchtober Begins: LA CAVE

Oh golly, this weather sure has been a thing, hasn’t it?  It has.

In the same way that Mr. Curtas enjoys the luxury of a fine cotton seersucker suit (white on white, Tom Wolfe style), I enjoy the obverse side of this sartorial coin: TWEED.  Oh and by my various speckles and herringbones, I can feel that tweed weather coming along quite nicely.  And along with tweed weather comes the rarest of Las Vegas enjoyments, the foreign tradition known as “Eating Outside”.  And that, my friends, means brunch.

We’ll enjoy Brunchtober and Brunchvember, and enjoy it prudently.  Thinking of hitting EggzNstuff?  Hope you can wake up earlier than someone who goes to an exclusively Senior Citizen church.  Drawn in by a billboard promising all you can stomach industrialized mimosas?  Please destroy yourself.

I’ve been there guys!  I know it, and I know you.  And even among the best brunches, sometimes we’ll crave something outside Mexican-fusion (the always amazing Border Grill) or a music video-esque lavish French Bistro (Bouchon, the earliest “fine dining”). I wanted quality, brunchy items, not with a twist on the traditional, more like a slight rotation. I was pointed towards the unlikely La Cave.  Yes, they brunch!  Dim Sum/butler/AYCE style: you pay, they meander with trays, you grunt in approval.