I’ve seen people try to order a beer at brunch, and the response from the wait staff is akin to telling a date your favorite movie is Triumph of the Will and you love ball torture. Let me order something cheap without my waiter throwing shade in my general direction.
So what if I might prefer a reasonably priced Bourbon and Ale 8 (3 parts bourbon, 1 part soda) with my steak and eggs Benedict over the shitty, fancied-up concoction reminiscent of Tang and Zima.
If I am getting wrenched out of bed while still harboring a righteous hangover some Sunday afternoon to suffer through a bunch of 1st world chit-chat, baking under the sizzling sun, feigning interest in someone’s tiny tyrant of a dog, I deserve a real fucking drink.
Sure champagne has its time and place (New Year’s, weddings, yacht christening…douchey fucks). As a mixer, it’s bullshit. Maybe sipping on something barely stronger than cough syrup helps you feel sophisticated and chic, but to me it’s beside the point. Alcohol exists to do its job, why fight it.
Better yet, to hell with brunch altogether. Wake me up for dinner and drinks.