Now don’t get me wrong I like eating good food as much as the next person – heck I love it. And I love going to great restaurants and eating fantastic food – if for no other reason that I don’t have to do the washing up. And I don’t even mind seeing pictures on Instagram of times that you ate phenomenal food whilst I sat at home eating roasted chicken and broccoli. Again. No, I am beyond that level of pettiness, I am woman hear me roar.
But, that being said if I have to see another photo of a Sunday brunch which involves sourdough, crushed avocado and a poached egg I may lose my mind, just a tad. And no chilli flakes don’t make it any less white upper middle class. Neither does rocket, sea salt, watercress or any of the other subtle accoutrements that restaurants add in the hope of differentiating themselves from the avocado brigade. Nope they’re laughing all the way to the bank because you just spent £7.50 on a thin slice of bread (that often has holes in it,) half an avocado and an egg – now I’m no restaurateur but the mark-up on that must be ruddy exceptional.
I feel compelled to ask the question that surely must be on everyone’s lips – why on earth are we doing this? Firstly, let me tell you something about a thin slice of toast and a dash of protein and some greens – it ain’t filling. After around two hours I don’t know about you, but I’m getting hungry. Two and a half hours later I’m seriously hangry – and, for anyone who knows me, that essentially means I am a ticking time bomb waiting to go off. Think Britney Spears shaved head moment. So if I’m going out for brunch, which given that I live in London, means there’s a whole array of fantastic restaurants on my doorstop I want proper grown up grub – grain bowls rich with vegetables, shakshuka with hearty wholemeal bread, a fluffy omelette overflowing with local produce and if I wasn’t so terribly lactose intolerant I would want fro yo filled with exotic fruits. But, no, now I am forced to go to yet another hipster café where the seats are uncomfortable and the tables are too small and spend a small fortune on something I could make at home. And here’s the kicker ladies and gentleman – who on earth can’t slice a piece of toast, mash some avocado and fry an egg? – Heck you could even put some chilli flakes on it and call yourself a hipster.
So I am somewhat ambitiously hoping this blog will start a boycott of all things avocado littering my Sunday afternoon newsfeed – here’s to next week and a slightly more diverse Sunday brunch offering.
Words by Helena Baker