While some of you, according to Instagram, still rule the night clubs, park cars on trees, inhale cigarette smoke, sweat, drink exotic drinks in the dark which then spill all over your hands along your whole body down at the floor which becomes sticky… shout at your friends, spit in the ears of your interlocutor, read their lips while speakers are making an earthquake noise, my “nightlife” is something completely different.
When the sun and fog rise in the early morning, city smog gets thinner and delivery trucks get stuck on the sidewalk managing boxes… that’s ME time. I get in the most fashionable trainers, put blush on my face, tuck some Labelol strawberry taste on my lips. I pick a place with most comfortable chairs, get there first so I can choose the best spot. Before I dig into the menu, I order one mint lemonade, no sugar, no ice… to wake up the body, yet to maintain the hunger. I take a sip, feel the healthy acid pinches.
Then I open the Menu. I go through it several times. It’s desirable for meals to have a particular name that doesn’t reveal the content right away. That way I’m intrigued. Country Style… I wonder what Country Style could be. I choose sunny side up eggs with all kinds of delights… cheese, bacon, sausage, butters, toppings, homemade warm bread. We all know the old saying for restaurants: You are what your bread is like.
The hunger starts to kick in. Lemonade is disappearing, only the mint taste crushed straw is left. My body is ready for a feast. The breakfast is here, preferably served in lots of smaller dishes. I take a photo (which is a modern way of saying a prayer) and upload it to Instagram. The morning queen #easymorning. Like there are playing your favorite song in a club… the dance floor is mine.
I nobly dig into the content of the plate and side dishes with equable tempo so the last bite always has a little bit of everything. The plate shines. Proteins are kicking in.
Maybe something for desert? The meal is not complete if you don’t eat something sweet at the end. No, it’s not reserved only for lunches and dinners. Breakfast deserves desert same as any other meal. I don’t ask about the price. I work in advertising, I make billboards for yogurts and coffee. I deal with twisted client requests. This is what I worked for all these years.
I pick American pancakes with maple syrup. And the syrup dish is the sweetest. Like a little milk bawl for Thumbelina. My heart is melting.
At the beginning, it feels like I won’t be able to overcome tree floor pancake instalation all by myself, but I get surprised every time. Like when you (not me) run out whole marathon, you beat yourself although you didn’t have serious self disagreement in the first place… with yourself. Sugar finally stuffs me and makes me not think about food for a while.
By the time I take the last bite I order one sugarless cappuccino. I want to dedicate my whole attention to it. This is the after party… when you realize you’ll soon be in bed. I peel the foam from the bottom of a cup. Look! There’s a cookie! Sad that the breakfast is over someone would say: Shall we? No, we shall not. I can sit here till late hours, ordering things each half an hour. I have my spot, my computer, wi-fi, toilet, butler, snack, refreshment… why ever leave this place?
I went home and took a little nap.