It’s a ritual. You wake up, presumably after tying one on, and text all of your friends about where you’ll go this week. You’ve got your old staples for when you don’t feel the need to go above and beyond, and you’ve got your bougier options to satisfy the needs of your friend who considers herself a foodie. But you and I both know that when Sunday rolls around, no matter what, you’re going to find yourself staring blankly at a menu surrounded by your nearest and dearest wondering what you should order even though you continually order the exact same thing.
And what you order says everything about you.
You’re the perpetual “I’m not going out this weekend” person who is going to make uppity comments about the acidity of the coffee being affected by the way it was poured, which you looked up the night before while menubating rather than going out. You’re going to spend the rest of your Sunday reading T Magazine in front of a fire while listening to your perfectly curated playlist. And while we’re all jealous of the idea of that, we still all hate you because we’re hungover as hell.
…or you’re parlaying your cup of joe into a Bloody Mary because you’re an absolute pro.
There are two types of people in the world: Bloody Mary People and Mimosa People. Bloody Mary People are content. They’re content with what they did the night before (no matter how bad it was or wasn’t). They’re content with the fact that they get to (or have to) drink again in the morning to feel normal. They’re content with the fact that their Bloody Mary is going to fill them up, tire them out, and put them into a tomato juice-induced coma that’ll leave them in and out of a nap for the rest of the afternoon while Netflix asks them, “Are you still watching?”
And then we have our Mimosa People. Sure, you might be a lush who has indigestion for the rest of the day, but you don’t care because you’re about to embark on a champagne campaign that involves drinking an entire bottle of Prosecco mixed with a splash of Minute Maid. Yeah, you got drunk last night. And yeah, you regret it. But after a little bubbly and a little Vitamin C? Let’s run it back and do it again. You’re a wild card, and you love it.
You’re wearing oversized shades while sending selfie Snapchats to your friends with the caption, “Sunglasses and Advil, last night was mad real.” You’re either wearing the same clothes from the night before, or you were twenty minutes late to brunch because you had to change out of your clothes from the night before. You don’t want anything on the menu because it’s not gluten free, but in reality, that doesn’t matter because you lost your credit card the night before somewhere between 4th Street and Main. Or maybe it was 3rd Street. Or maybe you should be honest with yourself and admit that you have no idea where you lost it.
Steak & Eggs
You heathen. You man, you. Steak? Yeah, you probably killed the fucking cow, didn’t you? Eggs? You’ll take an entire crate because you are man and you want everyone to hear you roar. You click on every article titled “Ron Swanson Quotes About Being A Man” even though you know all you need is a flannel shirt and a fucking axe. Oh, and your coffee? Black.
You’ve got one goal and one goal only for this brunch: get full. It doesn’t matter if you can eat whatever you want because you’re a careless glutton, or you have to load on cals because you work out harder than The Rock, but we both know you’re ordering that stack because you want to feel a brick of doughy, Maple Syrup-soaked goodness all up in your belly. Shit, maybe you’re throwing some berries and whipped cream on top for good measure. That’s allowed, because no one judges the pancake person because secretly we all want to be the pancake person.
Bacon, Eggs, & Toast
Snoozefest. You’re the Don or Betty Draper of the group, but not in the fun sense. You’re the sober Don or Betty that none of us could wait for to fall off the rails. Like, just get some flavor in your life. At least combine all of them into a… Wait for it. Wait for it.
Ahhh, the Regular Joe of the pack. You’re not pushing the envelope too much when it comes to the brunch, but you’re also not going to be the person that gets called out for drinking the coffee before going directly home afterward. You’re going to have a couple beers and hang out all afternoon, but you’re going to maintain only a slight buzz because you want to get home that night for the Sunday Night Baseball game between the Cardinals and Cubs. Everyone loves you, man. And when asked why, everyone responds, “I don’t know, he’s just a great guy.”
Chicken & Waffles
I still can’t believe this is a thing, and I can’t believe real people actually order this. These are the people that love food challenges and simply can’t understand why Guy Fieri receives so much criticism. I mean, come on! Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives was awesome, right!?
Be careful not to spill that on your latest issue of Kinfolk magazine.
You’re the same type of person that orders their own calzone while everyone else is splitting a large pizza. Because that’s what an omelette is: the calzone of eggs. You’re going to load that puppy with all the meats and vegetables you can before they start costing a dollar each, because you know that ordering an omelette is economical as fuck. When’s the last time you saw someone join the Clean Plate Club after finishing an omelette? Exactly. Never.
You and I can both agree that this term is overused and dead, but we can also agree that you embody it: you’re basic. And hey, that’s not a bad thing. Basic is just another word for stereotypical, and I’m stereotypical too. I like Eggs Benedict as much as the next person, and I’m content with ordering the most basic brunch order on the menu. I’ll probably be wearing a Masters polo and Nike cross-trainers while I do it. And you? You’ll be wearing lululemon and Ray Bans because you may (or may not) have just gotten done working out. And you’re friends with these girls. .
Image via Shutterstock