Brunch is the most elusive member of la Famiglia Meal, leaving the house at the age of seventeen to follow Tesla on the road. A couple times a year, Brunch returns to do his laundry and borrow some cash. Without question, he’s the epitome of the prodigal son.

Today I was blessed by a visit from Brunch. Not only did he give me a big hug and recount his misadventures as a roadie, but he showed me his new tattoo. I never would have thought that Brunch would be blazoned with such a work of skin-art, but now I can’t picture him without it. Brunch has changed, irrevocably and for the better.

Brunch, as I learned today, is so much better when accompanied by a cold brew. Specifically, while eating my food I sipped on Clementine from the kind souls at the Clown Shoes Brewery.

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