Four types of Cambridge students you’ll find at your college brunch

You know them. I know you do.


My dear Cambridge brunchers, lockdown is getting long. News is getting dreary. (No lectures? Aka no chance to be embarrassingly late and then catch up on sleep among our peers? What??). So it’s time to reflect upon better times. A time where weekends were still a thing. The age of college brunches.

We all miss people flexing their stash in the brunch queue. We miss people demonstrating (literally) breath-taking abilities to down food. We miss the important debates about which college brunch is superior (why so much hype around Pembroke?) or whether the eggs are cooked enough (hm, no). We miss critically analysing people’s table choice.

In a tribute to greasy mushrooms, crumbling hash browns and people looking like they have not slept since beginning of term, let us reflect upon four familiar Sunday morning sights.

1) The sick bruncher

Some hide behind trays: “What have I done”, they wonder, trying to piece together bits from the night before. Liquor blurs their memory and their gestures are unsure. They pile up pancakes and donuts, searching for sweetness in a bitter world. They fidget in the Hall before finally fleeing to the bathroom where liquor remnants give luminous floors a darker shade. Their brunch shall forever lay uneaten. Friends comfort and laugh, bemused by the spectacle of a once A* student turned clubber and worse, lover of rugby boys.

Yes, I have no brunch footage, and yes, I am shamefully distorting pictures of my friends. Type 1 bruncher. Pre-bathroom run. Mid-existential crisis. (Photo credit: Juliette Gueron-Gabrielle)

 2) The bruncher that has it all together

Some others never queue: first arrived, first gone, their hair shines from an early morning run. Their eyes are bright from, well, intelligence. Unlike the rest of us, they do attend lectures, all lectures. What more, their essays are never drafted in crisis. In their free time, they preside over societies, Kings and Queens catering to The People. They are and shall remain forever foreign to the rest of the Brunchers, a rare species one can but watch from afar. They do not even need caffeine, being naturally awake and high-spirited. They squint at the hash browns: grease is to them an intriguing, foreign concept. On porcelain plates, they pile oats and fruit. In need of protein to sustain their productive lifestyle, they add an egg. When avocado toasts are not an option, they maintain their composure. They stand strong in the face of adversity.

Type 2. Reflecting upon existence whilst perfectly dressed. Fancy healthy drink in hand. Not approachable. (Photo credit: Audrey Rogulski)

                    

3) The undercover bruncher

Others still eye the scene. They move with great suspicion amidst the locals. Strangers in a strange land, they have tentatively set foot on the ground of a college that is not their own. They pile up a little bit of everything on their plate, and they will let their friend or lover pay. Turned wide-eyed by the promise of free food, they shall exit brunch looking slightly pale and overfed. They are the easiest type of bruncher to spot. Unsure of the foreign customs, their voices are low. Nervous, they occasionally pause mid-hash brown, having forgotten how one is supposed to eat. They use their cutlery with great care and are dressed with taste. Them and brunch-type 2 are the only remnant of civilisation amid a crowd slumped over their beans and toast, in over-sized t-shirts they forgot they owned until they began questioning the human construct of washing one’s clothes. The undercover bruncher’s secret weapon: a tall jug of water to shield themselves from interaction with local specimens. When acquaintances from nights out or their course pass in front of them, they duck. They are in hostile terrain after all. Discussion will have to await Cindie’s smoking area, a more neutral setting.

Type 3. Trying to fit in. Making the most out of free food whilst ducking from acquaintances. (Photo credit: Juliette Gueron-Gabrielle)

4) The herd bruncher

Others arrive in large herds. They triple the length of the queue. They are the nightmare of bruncher type two, those who consider brunch a bodily function to be accomplished with great time efficiency. The herd brunchers laugh their way to the beans and sausages stand. They are here for the fun and do not care for early morning workouts. They offer quite a messy sight. Styling uncombed hair and sportswear, they are one early alarm clock away from coming to brunch in onesies and flip-flops. Indeed, they have been out late the night before, but in no savage manner. The herd prefers the comfort of home to the City’s frenzy. Upon such events as freshers’ week, they used to venture on collective terrains. They now remain on collegiate domain. Like beans in a can, they never dream of parting way. They share food; they are the last in and last out. Porters grown fond of the herd do not get cross at them for overextending their brunch stay. They brunch like a single body, with a complicity forged over many a sleepless weekend night. These, my dear friends, are the backbone of college brunch.

Type 4 vestments. Herd members cared about appearance for, like, freshers. now keep themselves from washing clothing as they wish to keep smell of clan. (Photo credit: Juliette Gueron-Gabrielle)

And now that we have reflected upon a few archetypes of those golden college brunches, I tell you not to worry. Rest sound, fellow brunchers. Amidst roasted tomatoes and runny eggs, we shall meet again.

Featured image: Claudia Rowan, Juliette Gueron-Gabrielle