by Anthony Ellison
So I was on my way to a Cartoon rehearsal the other day and I was still a biteen drunk from the night before and I needed some food. My good friend and improv-mate, Sean Keith…
Was in the same boat, so we decided to stop off at the Urban Café for some dynamite brunch. It was a great meal and it just hit the spot…Hard. Like pounded it. You know what I mean? Something was just totally right about the blueberry pancakes I had. Then I look over and see Sean eating a burger and I had this epiphany. Where and when did this phenom called brunch begin? I have my own theory:
Once upon a time, a man named Alex Schoenbaum sat down to eat at a very AWKWARD time of the early day to eat lunch. He’d slept in till 10:50a after a night of trouble-making, drinkin’, cruisin’, and it lead to a tug of war between his belly and his natural eating routine. He didn’t know if he wanted scrambles and Honey Dew or burgers and taters. A man Alex is not used to be confused.
“Whoa”, he declared in front of a group of his friends. “I’m confused. Do I want breakfast or lunch?” His posse agreed. They, too were torn between breakfast and lunch. They ripped open a bag of suckers and pondered the predicament. Two hours and a family-sized bag of quarter-sized suckers later Schoenbaum came to a conclusion: “I don’t give a shit what it is, breakfast or lunch! It’s all grease and it’s gonna be shit by the time Monday Night Football comes around, so let’s just call it brunch and get the hell on with our lives.”
Well. Get the hell on with his life, he did. Essentially, he erected a Great Wall of Buffets that divided the true buffet soldiers from the Girlie-girl Weah-Weah babies. It stretched from its origin, Charleston WV, all the way to the outer edges of the Midwest. You could think of it as a metaphorical sister project to the Great Wall of China. Okay, well let’s just say that it was a hit and frequent hotspot for after-church minglings.
But there was yet another problem. “Hey Schoeny,” declared one of his buddies, “…This is such a popular place to be! You should name it.
“Good point.” Schoeny agreed, thought for a second, and in classic Schoeny fashion he replied, “Let’s just call it Shoney’s and get the hell on with our lives.” (check out the site)
320 current locations and millions of full bellies later he leaned back with a glass of Sangria in his bright red hot tub and says to himself “…Brunch…(arrogant chuckle)…they’re all sheep.”
As a former Sunday frequenter of this legendary spread, I have to thank you, Schoeny. You gave this 5-8 yr old reason to endure the torturous hour of ceremony every Sunday morning. Thank you for all the pancakes and suckers.