No other meal stands out as distinctly American as Sunday Brunch. Sure, you could argue for Thanksgiving dinner or the neighborhood cookouts on Independence Day or Labor Day, even a Memorial Day pic-a-nic. And I don't have any quarrel with any of those, but they're all once a year events.
But week in and week out, we can count on Sunday Brunch. Whether we're on our way home from church, still dressed better than we will be at work all week, or just heading out in jeans, t-shirt and flip-flops, a Cincinnati Reds cap on our uncombed hair and sunglasses covering our bloodshot eyes, still hungover from Saturday night, Good Old Sunday Brunch will instantly make us feel like a part of the great American family. Think about it: have you ever gone to Sunday Brunch and stood in that buffet line and NOT felt comfortable enough to talk to complete strangers like they were third cousins at the family reunion? No, it doesn't happen like that, because Sunday Brunch is with the family, and as soon as we walk in the doors of that Old Country Buffet or Denny's or even the fancy joints you'd never dream of going on date night with the old man/old lady because you can't justify spending that much money on his/her old ass when 20 years of marriage still isn't enough to guarantee you're getting laid tonight no matter how much you drop on dinner, you're part of a much bigger family than just your own 3 screaming kids and the two others who slept over last night without any parents being notified. You're part of the entire extended family in that particular restaurant at that particular moment. And ultimately, you're part of the American family subset of EVERYBODY IN EVERY CITY AND STATE who decided to do Sunday Brunch that morning.
And when you realize that and reflect on its implications, that you could very well be having the exact same cooked-to-order shallot and asparagus spear omelet with Swiss cheese and malted Belgian waffle breakfast that the President of The United States is having that very moment, you feel overcome with emotion; a rush of pride in our nation and all the good it represents. Sure, we screw up on stuff, lots of stuff, big stuff, like the economy and helping other Americans out after hurricanes. But we also do lots of stuff right; more stuff than any other piddly little country in Europe (those smug bastards) will ever dream of getting right.
That's what Sunday Brunch does for us. That's what it's about. And for a fleeting moment, we feel like we could even listen to a little bit of the chorus of that song about being proud to be American without feeling like punching the first redneck you hear singing along. For a moment, we are so content that we can restrain ourselves from even THAT.
Do you feel it too? Sure you do. So I'm giving you all a present this morning, not because it's a special occasion (although it IS my sister Ruth's birthday tomorrow, so everyone reading this in Troy please call her tomorrow and make her feel good) but just because it's Sunday. And this is my Sunday Brunch gift for you, my faithful reader. I mean readers. Hell, who am I kidding, it's just for me, cause nobody else reads this and I'm a failure and I'm never gonna be good at anything........
Sorry. I'm better now. So enjoy the gift, and happy Sunday Brunch.