Oh, Boogaloo’s, you “brunch spot of all brunch spots” in the mission. Come rain, come shine, come in-between grayness, there will always be brunchers queued to partake in your sloppy, vegan and meatetarian friendly, faux-mexican goodness.
So, who are these loyal participants? On weekends, the answer is: anyone willing to wait 45 minutes for Valencia corridor convenience and eggs.
But, what about those people who flock to the Boog on TUESDAYS? Since 11:30 is too early to lunch, and hours late for “breakfast o’clock,” I’ve reasoned that these people are part of the mission elite who BRUNCH on weekdays. Lets call them, “hipsters who brunch.”
Yesterday morning, the crowd seemed especially busy, so I decided to treat my unemployed ass to a bottomless cup of coffee, a square-cool combo and some people watching with the hopes of better understanding the mysterious order of people engaging in this unpretentious, yet indulgent, ritual. Here are my findings:
Type A. The Unemployed or Self-Employed: Like me, these persons tend to stay too long and order too little. What else have they got to do? In groups, they are often found splitting side dishes three ways, and asking their server to refill the creme pot for the fourth time.
Type B. The Parents: Found in both the male and female breed (how progressive is California!), these doting and mature individuals are clad in the most trendy and ergonomic of “baby-wearing” fashions. While shoveling whole-grain O’s into their children’s mouths, and 22nd Street Steak Sandwiches into their own, they discuss adult topics like the trials of job-sharing and how to fit two carseats into a Mini.
Type C. The Night Shifters: They are just what you’d expect from your local bartenders, servers, and bouncers: pissed off.
Type D. The Financially Secure: These trust-funders and Silicon Valley early-retirees are so subconscious about their prosperity that they skip Zuni’s in favor of slumming it. Despite best efforts, these someones betray themselves by opting for the “real maple syrup” upgrade and never asking for doggie-bags.
Type E. Truants: In true Dylan style, these “forever youngs” have called in sick or late in order to ditch their hangover over a plate of soy-chorizo hash.
So, how does our new generation of “hipsters who brunch” compare with the “ladies who lunch” of yesteryear? While the number of mimosas may not have increased (those miserable matrons could drink most of us under the table), the diversity of characters certainly has. And more power to them if they have somehow shirked the 8-6 travail, even if only for a day.
