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God I missed brunch during COVID. I know a ridiculous first world problem thing to miss, but you have to understand the whole Australian brunch thing to get it.

I have always loved breakfast. For someone that struggled around lots of food and difficult dinner tables, breakfast was always fun and easy. My Mum used to make me porridge with carnation milk and brown sugar, what’s not to love. Also I remember those selection packs of cereal, but mainly we just had big boxes as the little ones caused arguments and nobody wanted the corn flakes. Massive bowls of Shreddies or Weetabix and if really lucky Frosties.

Breakfast out just didn’t happen. You might possibly go to a greasy spoon cafe (again a really English thing pronounced caff, where you get tea with 12 sugars, everything smells like grease and they have never heard of an avocado) on the way to our weeks holiday on the coast, but never on a normal weekend.

America opened my eyes to how amazing breakfast could be. I was 15 the first time we went and I remember being impressed that the McDonalds there served bagels. But this was my first introduction to pancakes, bacon and maple syrup. It was amazing, that salty sweetness is still my favourite flavour. A full two week holiday of trying to eat that everyday, or maybe changing it up a little with waffles or French toast, but always with bacon and maple syrup.

When I first moved in to London there was an amazing cafe in East Finchley where for a sausage sandwich they would deep fry the sausages and then cut them in half and fry the inside again on the grill. Then toasted white bread and my sauce of choice, which could cause controversy, was ketchup. One of those on a Saturday morning after a night out with a can of coke and it would cure all your ills. (Seriously I’m not sure how I haven’t had a coronary with my eating habits from back then).

Things improved immensely when I moved to Brighton. Bills was my favourite, just wankerly hipster enough. A converted bus garage that served amazing coffee and pancake stacks. Not everyone was a fan, I took my nephew there when he was little and he said the sausages were weird, took my Dad there and he complained about the lack of beans.

Now here I am in Melbourne. When I arrived 10 years ago (WTF!) the thought of queuing for a late breakfast did seem odd. But the Melbourne brunch scene is part of what makes this city so amazing. This country has already turned me in to an epic coffee snob (NO English people, a latte should not have half a litre of milk in it). It’s such a social thing, spending a good couple of hours enjoying good food and good company usually in a beautiful setting and an extra coffee to takeaway at the end.

I fully embraced the lifestyle and became the cliche. I went to the gym on Saturday mornings then went to brunch in my gym gear. I don’t even care what you think, I loved it. Still do.

No matter how many brunch places there are, more keep springing up and all of them seemed to be busy all the time. Warning though if you don’t serve halloumi I’ll be extremely disappointed.

Now lets take it up a notch and talk about the bottomless brunch.

If I told you that whilst at home on a Saturday morning sitting in my PJs alone I’d had two cocktails and three glasses of wine with my breakfast you would probably worry. There would be offers of help and support, whispers of concern for me between friends. But put on makeup and a fancy outfit, add some friends and do the same thing in public it becomes fully socially acceptable.

Imagine all the good brunch food accompanied by non stop alcohol. Sometimes mimosas or espresso martini’s, possibly champagne, always good. It can occasionally end badly, day drinking isn’t for the faint hearted. We’ve all seen the meme of that lady falling into a bush, you’ve been warned. Always ensure you’re surrounded by friends and you’ll be fine. I do suggest flat shoes though.

So make the breakfast last, let it role on through conversations and extra coffees or mimosas. Invite your faves and make sure you laugh almost too much.