You can tell a lot about someone by how they distribute their various spreads and preserves on particular types of breads - it’s almost like a self portrait. There’s people who work at cafes who do the above; this sparse, shitty, goalless existence, full of boundaries, unfulfilled, you know, all the kind of qualities that lead people into lives where they end up working jobs buttering people’s bread in cafes.
Then there’s people who go overboard on the butter but too easy on the spread, what barriers are you putting up buddy? It’s like those cowards at work who Alt+Tab between their “Work” fake Excel spreadsheets and their tiny little corner-of-the-screen personal fucking-around browser windows, like people around them don’t realise what they’re doing. Those really passive losers who order delivery 2-for-1 Scoopon voucher Thai (always Pad Thai, always delivery). There is nothing more depressing than mid-week 2-for-1 Scoopon Thai vouchers. There’s a reason why vouchers rhyme with couches; the people who use the former tend to make their most significant life impact on the latter.
You know what? Fuck brunch. You can either have breakfast or you can have lunch. There should be no in betweens. Who can even eat when they wake up anyway? If you wake up and don’t feel like throwing up instantly or like you’re about to have a heart attack you’re either in some sort of steady relationship or stable career, have a healthy fitness routine, a loving family or some other awful bullshit like that. If need be, have a coffee, or tea, or whatever, keep it simple, do it properly and proceed with your day.
Brunch used to be something that people with genuine hangovers or rich, attractive stay-at-home mums (not the poor ones, they’ve got chores to do) would indulge in. Now it’s just lazy Gen-Y pussies from the almost-inner-suburbs living these painful parody Frankie Magazine lives, making ridiculous menu alteration demands. Eggs Benedict, jam on toast, smoked salmon? Oooh, look at all the fancy options! Fucking. yawn. It’s not at all interesting, creative, nor is it pushing any sort of cullinary boundaries. Hence all the bullshit quirky plants on the shitty vintage step-ladder out the front, the appalling overpriced artwork for sale on the walls, and that fucking avocado on motherfucking rye, like rye is somehow objectively superior to white bread. You all think you’re absolutely killing it with kook with your mismatched plates & kerbside pick-up seating and that breakfast burrito is so zany and left-field and so representative of your alternative and diverse lifestyle; just so you.
But you do realise “being yourself” is a bad thing, right? It’s not eating some fancy-but-not muesli on a recycled stool made of gum-nuts down pumpernickel lane, nope, ever woken up covered in your own shit/vomit naked on the floor after drinking so much alcohol that absolutely every inhibition you’ve built over the years has been removed? That’s LITERALLY you being yourself.
So in summary, please apply spreads to your toasted bread evenly.