The waitress guides you to your brown paper-draped table and without making eye contact – as her eyes are probably made out of buttons to match her cold, Other Motherly disposition – she shoves the plasticized menu into your hands. You run your fingers over its glossy finish, contemplating whether the plastic was intended to protect against toddlers or arak-infused 'arsim' who act like toddlers. You quickly settle on both, then move onto browsing the menu.
"Three mushroom polenta...
"Disco fries with cheddar cheese...
You hover over the half-baked eggplanet, wondering whether an aubergine can get high or it's just your average Google translate faux pas, then continue...
"Grilled asparagus with parmesan and be–
"I don't love asparagus, and I'm not a huge fan of beets either," a member of the brunch bunch bursts in with verve not intended for pre-caffeinated ears. "I'm also lactarded so parmesan cheese isn't my best friend, but imagine those vibrant colors with a Valencia filter? Pure food porn," Karen continues (because every group has a Karen).
You bite your tongue so hard you nearly pierce through it–years food Instagram-related frustrations teeming inside. While you prefer to choose your meal based on a well-balanced point system that takes into account: flavor profile, taste, affordability (aka if you'll be able to pay your rent after enjoying this meal), and hilarious English errors ("I'd love to see the weekly spacials, why thank you...though the egg planet does sound intriguing), your friends are busy comparing filters like Ludwig and Hefe, which are named after classical pianists and South American Geoffreys(?), debating whether the rainbow hummus or the Caprese salad will score them more likes.
Better pick wisely, Karen, as you've just lost at least one friend at this brunch table, and you haven't even seen the deserts yet.