Last week I wrote Then and Now, about a few things I never understood as a weebigail. However, there are two more things I wanted to add to that list that I felt deserved their own post. Two things that although I never quite understood nor valued until maybe last year, are now detrimental to my well being. They are: brunch and happy hour.
Brunch, which is a derivative of breakfast and lunch combined was always reserved for Easter with the fam or Mother’s Day. That was until I met girlfriends who enjoyed chicken and waffles, and bottomless mimosas just as much as I did. While brunch can be for those either too lazy or too hungover to get up in time for breakfast, it’s also for those who want to continue the party from the night before. Not only does brunch consist of some of my favorite foods (candied bacon, grits, eggs benedict, smoked salmon), but it also gives me a reason to drink alcohol before noon without being judged.
I’d like to think that happy hour is brunch’s equally happy-go-lucky nocturnal cousin. Its origins go back to the US Navy in the 1920s, and the Prohibition era. Now, it’s a set amount of time where bar bites and alcohol are sold at a discounted price to boost business during slow hours. When I was younger, I would always see special “Happy hour” signs and menus whenever I’d walk into restaurants and think, “Meh, big deal.” That was until I took a sip of an ice-cold beer after an even longer than usual day at work and damn near CRIED. Because nothing says, “Fuck the man!” like getting drunk off $2 PBR before going back to work for the man the very next morning. The night I truly appreciated HH, was the night I felt like a full fledged responsible adult.
While it may sound like the only reason I’m in love with brunch and HH is because I get to be a cheap date, I promise it’s really because I love my friends. And brunch and HH are excuses for us to get together at a non-club environment to do some of our favorite things: eat, drink, and talk a gang of shit. Some of my loudest laughs, and best memories were created over bloody Mary’s at Foreign Cinema and potatoes gorgonzola at Palomino’s. I remember one night meeting up with Nikko for a “quick and cheap HH bite,” at B-Bar that resulted in a $117 bill and me getting home at 9 o’clock. So much for cheap and fast, but the inside jokes we shared over 48 oysters (yes forty-fucking-eight) and a bottle of wine were priceless.
So brunch and HH, cheers to you for once! Cheers to providing me with endless laughs to go with my endless mimosas, and the happiest hourS with some of my very best friends.
Some of my favorite brunch and HH spots that I would definitely suggest: Hyatt (SFO) Ironside (SOMA) Foreign Cinema (Mission) Farmer Brown (TL) B Street and Vine (San Mateo) Maye’s (TL) B-Bar (SOMA) Luna Park (Mission) Americano (Embarcadero)