Man vs Mimosa: My experience with a champagne brunch

I’m no competitive drinker; I’m just a regular guy with a serious appetite.

Okay, so maybe I stole that from Adam Richman, but his show Man vs. Food always was a pleasure when I was growing up. He would take on these seemingly impossible challenges, and within a few minutes, you’d see his game plan unfold and his plate empty out. And it’s his bravado and courage that inspired me one sunny Saturday morning at Hadley’s.

Browsing the menu, I noticed a mimosa cost about $6. Anyone who’s ever started their day with mimosas knows this: there’s no such thing as just one mimosa at brunch. What’s the harm? Champagne supposedly wears off quickly, orange juice provides vitamin C to fight scurvy, and a stemless glass at 10 a.m. says, “I’m sophisticated, and I like to party.”

With that in mind, I started to calculate my totals. Two mimosas came to about $12 before taxes and tips, but they came in a larger glass if ordered separately. Let’s just say each $6 mimosa holds about two actual mimosas since the glass is larger. So if you really want to stretch the truth, $12 for four drinks isn’t too bad. That being said, once you hit $18, the question arises: if the brunch special offers endless* mimosas per person at about $20, wouldn’t it just be easier to pay the $20 up front? But what if I can’t even get past four mimosas? Then I would’ve been better just getting the two drinks separately.

My head was spinning with equations like that meme of Zach Galiffanakis in The Hangover. And then the voice of reason hit my subconscious: What would Adam Richman do? He wouldn’t worry about silly dollar signs, and math is for nerds. I’m getting the brunch special, dammit!

And so I did.

The first bottle of champagne and orange juice arrived and I started the first two drinks with the same ratio: a shit ton of champagne and a splash of OJ. They went down almost too easily. The stemmed glass in my hand combined with a refill-my-own-adventure at my fingertips; I was on cloud nine. Or maybe it was just the bubbles getting to my head. When my meal arrived, I was convinced: if I was wrong about cloud nine, I didn’t want to be right.

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Drinks three and four went down almost as easy as the first two and instantly my worries if I should’ve gotten the brunch special disappeared. Who cares about anything, really? I had mimosas. I should mention that these ones were a bit stronger than the first and the bottle of champagne is about half empty. Still had plenty OJ, though.

I poured up drink number five and, what do you know, it went down easy. Or did I chug that? I don’t know. Empty glass. Refill.

When it came time for drink number seven and eight, it came time for another bottle of champagne. The first bottle was running on low, and I thought I had plenty of gas left in the tank. I quickly slammed back the last of the first bottle, and had a slight moment of pride. Somewhere, I hoped Adam Richman was proud of me at this moment.

It’s when I poured up any drink after 10, but not before 13, that I realized I had made a grave mistake. My belly was about to burst from all the bubbles. My fun and playful head buzz turned into a headache. My eyes were drowsy and, honestly, who knows if they were both even open. I squinted at the second bottle and felt I had done enough damage. A bottle and a half for one man is too much. I threw up the white flag, was whisked home by my designated driver, and instantly fell asleep on the couch.

Though man was done with the mimosas, the mimosas weren’t done with man. The cold sweats ensued, the room began to spin, and I decided the cold tile in the bathroom would feel nice on my skin. It had nothing to do with the evil brewing inside of my stomach. A few hours later, I woke up feeling a bit groggy but I definitely didn’t get sick… So don’t ask me about it. Got it?

In the battle between man and mimosas, let’s just say it was a tie.

* Short of alcohol poisoning.

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