The Chicago Brunch Lifestyle has beckoned to me ever since I saw the huddled couples, wearing oversized sweatshirts and tight ponytails threaded through destressed baseball caps. The glamour of it all. The ritualistic nature of it. The clear waft of hang over and ambition combined with imperceptibly expensive casual clothing and the entire Sunday Chicago Tribune tucked under their arm. The couples had couples. The couples had dogs which were impossibly well behaved and had no immediate needs.
I never had time. How did they wake up early enough to perform the unidentifiable sport they just participated in and have enough time to wait on the sidewalk for forty-five minutes to get a table and get through table service before they stopped serving brunch? Somehow during this time, the entire Sunday Chicago Tribune was digested and discussed. Never a copy of the Sun Times and was it possible that every single one of these people worked in advertising?
But I would pass them. I would beg my friends to go. They were always busy working or would laugh at the financial cost of an endeavor such as this. What’s wrong with just getting a bagel? We also didn’t watch sports, talk about sports, or participate in sports which is virtually impossible in Chicago. We did watch basketball of course because we were not monsters. But the watching of basketball in Chicago is like breathing air or drinking water. We…
