It is Tuesday night and
Okay, I’m going to start getting confused over what tenses to use, so I’m moving on.
Television tells me that there are people out there who “get money back” from the government at tax time. “Tax refunds,” if you will. I know nothing about this, as I always seem to break even or owe one bajillion dollars. Similarly, due to the fact that my professional life has been limited to the publishing world, all my raises have been orderly and steady (which is nice! Love raises! Blogging from home!) but not in the what you would call “insane” category. It just so happens that my lovely and (very) deserving friend, Krista, came into the random windfall of a healthy tax refund and a chunk of raise at about the same time. And because she is a generous soul, she decided to celebrate by taking a couple of us out for a “surprise outing” Sunday morning.
Being the clever girl that I am, I immediately surmised that this Sunday outing would fall into the brunch category and prepped myself accordingly. As per instructions, on Sunday morning, J and I dressed up and headed over to Krista’s, where we met Abby. After throwing around a few guesses as to where we were actually headed, it became clear that perhaps we weren’t thinking quite in the right direction. Yes, there would be brunch, but there would also be something else.
Not only that, we were heading to Times Square. Now if you were to pick one of the last places you would go looking for me on a Sunday morning, you could put Times Square right up there on that list. And if you were perhaps looking for me based solely on the knowledge that I am a Jewish vegetarian, the other last place you would look for me was exactly the place Krista landed us:
The World Famous Harlem Gospel Choir and Southern Brunch.
I will have to admit that at this point—-the point where we rounded the corner and saw the only marquee with the word “brunch” on it also had the word “gospel” next to it—-I had some reservations. But apprehension only takes you so far when your belly is growling and there is free coffee and a long table of southern food waiting for you. Mmm, grits and biscuits, baby. The music was good, too. They only “took us to church” for two songs, and the rest were of the pop song that could be interpreted as Jesus song if sung with particular soul by a woman in a gospel choir who holds up her hands to the audience and the audience is Christian and totally into it variety. Which was cool.
But even more exciting, while we were piling our plates full of brunchity goodness, J got to the end of the brunch table, where they place the obligatory bowl of whole fruit, and...he took an apple. A whole green apple. And then when we got back to the table, and the rest of us tucked into our mac and cheese and jambalaya and peach cobbler...J ate the apple.
Liz: I can’t believe you’re eating an apple at a buffet brunch. You are the first person ever to eat an apple at a buffet brunch.
J: What, no. I’m sure someone else has eaten an apple.
Liz: No, you are the first person, ever. No one eats apples at a brunch. In a fruit salad: yes. Cut up as an ingredient in something else: yes. A whole apple, all by itself? No.
J: [looking around] I’m sure there is someone else in this room who is eating an apple.
Liz: Are you not listening to what I’m saying? You are the first person—in the ENTIRE HISTORY of eating brunches—to EVER eat a plain, whole apple. There’s no one else.
As it turns out, the eating of the apple inspired Abby to eat an apple next. Then the guy behind us got one as well. J may have started something big. It’s hard to watch someone eat a crispy apple without wanting one yourself.
So even though on paper, Jesus, southern food, whole apples, and Times Square does not look like a fun morning for Liz, in real life it is very fun. Screw you preconceived notions!
(thanks, Krista!)
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