I recently started eating out for Sunday breakfast. Typically, I head to Lucky’s in Tremont (Cleveland). Since I rarely sleep in, I’m usually there before 9 AM. Because I’m mostly a loner, I’m usually there alone—unless whatever book I’m reading counts as a guest (this week will be The Man Who Quit Money – it’s just OK).
The food – biscuits and gravy plus a side of cured bacon topped with pecan and brown sugar – never disappoints and usually wows. But I’m not there for the food, or the coffee. No, I’m there to people watch.
For 45 minutes I enjoy the quiet of being alone, flipping a page in my book here or there, but mostly just watching the interactions of the tables filling around me.
The beauty of an early Sunday breakfast is that the meal is void of agendas or motives. Only the people matter.
Every Sunday, I see parents and grandparents spilling stories that make the children around them cackle. There are sets of friends, usually in two, who eat in mostly silence—faces so familiar that any words spoken mean less than the company kept does. Young babies wail and toddlers agitate their parents with anxious hands and short attention spans. Sunday is a time for family and these imperfections make that time memorable.
On Sunday morning, business isn’t discussed or conducted; transactions aren’t debated or executed; men aren’t busy pursuing women who aren’t busy feigning interest in them; agendas aren’t hidden and motives are clear; the crowd is filling but the restaurant isn’t full. It’s about the people.
Relationships are defined at this time on a Sunday morning. Conversation is the currency that counts and friends who enjoy each other’s company find the time to share together.
On these Sunday mornings, I’m most inspired by the interactions of the people around me.