Brunch Is The Devil’s Meal

by Rachel Drane 8 months ago in satire

The heavenly meal has been deceiving people for too long

 Brunch Is The Devil’s Meal
Photo by Ali Inay on Unsplash

It’s late Sunday morning. I’m standing in the entrance of a restaurant overflowing with other Millennials and (dear god, now) Zoomers waiting for the weekly sacrament. The Sacrament of Brunch.

More people enter, so I scoot in, pressing up against a woman with the world’s most perfect messy topknot. I consciously look around and take everyone in. And wonder if they know.

If they know they have a heretic in their midst.

I once was a believer—don’t get me wrong. I extolled the virtues of breakfast food. Whenever included in a brunch outing, I truly felt among the #chosen.

But then something happened.

I’d been continuing my progression of aging and gradually learning what my body responds poorly to. I learned that eating a great deal at once makes me feel gross. I learned that drinking during alcohol the day just makes me feel sick and tired. I learned that delaying a meal makes me hangry. And you don’t want to see me when I’m hangry.

Thus, the first crack in the Church of Brunch.

Was this just me? Was I overreacting? Maybe I should just get over myself. Brunch is worshipped by millions, if not billions. It’s even a portmanteau, for god's sake. How bad could it really be?!

But within that very fact is its insidiousness. A portmanteau is combination of two words, often to depict the combination of two ideas or things. Smog is a combination of smog and fog. Glamping, of glamor and camping.

In this instance, brunch comes from the combination of "breakfast" and "lunch." And not only of their terms. It's combining the two practices themselves.


That’s right. The Church of Brunch (whose own portmanteau would be... Brurch? Chunch?) has convinced you to sacrifice one of your three daily meals. Not only that, it has convinced you that you enjoy doing so.

Breakfast is delightful. A reward for making it through the night! Did you know that the French term for breakfast (petit dejeuner) means “little lunch?” How friggin’ cute is that?!

And lunch gives you a nice little boost in the middle of the day.

Why sacrifice either one?! If anything, there should be MORE meals in the day!

Pippin: What about breakfast?

Aragorn: You’ve already had it.

Pippin: We’ve had one, yes. What about second breakfast?

Merry: I don’t think he knows about second breakfast, Pip.

Pippin: What about elevenses? Luncheon? Afternoon tea? Dinner?

(FUN FACT: these are all real meals! Not just Tolkien imaginings.)

Hobbits were onto something. Because not only would you get to eat throughout the day if there were more meals, but there's also scientific evidence that doing so is better for your body. After about 3 hours without eating, blood sugar starts to drop. 4 hours, you’ve digested everything. 5 hours, blood sugar plummets. Hence, the hanger.

But maybe I’m a fool for bringing science into a discussion about religion. Maybe I'm a fool for fighting this good fight. For as history has shown, trying to dissuade others from their beliefs is often fruitless. And at the very worst, violent. Families can be ripped apart. Communities obliterated.

So I've decided to keep my opinions to myself. To not ruin the outing.

My friends and I finally get seated. It's a cramped table shoved into a corner meant for one fewer than we have in our party. My companions shout for their orders to be heard over the din of like-minded individuals surrounding us.

Once the sacrament has begun, I stare at the tall glass before me. Everyone around me lifts their own for this act of communion. I do the same. As they drink the Blood of Mary, they're absolved of the sins of the night before. As I drink, I sin anew. For it is considered sin to receive Brunch on anything but an empty stomach.

But what's a sin to a non-believer?

Rachel Drane
Rachel Drane
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Rachel Drane

I like to write about mental health, relationships, and tech. And sometimes ridiculous fiction. I also like pole dancing, pottery, painting, and playing.

I dislike pickles. - she/her

See all posts by Rachel Drane