Yes, I am well aware that I just posted the Easter Brunch. This, however, is a different kind of brunch. A brunch for two. A private brunch. A bedroom brunch.
I was inspired to bust out this brunch because of the inclusion of the Bloody Bullshot–a variation of the questionable beef-based libation called the Bullshot, which I featured on the blog earlier this month.
Here’s the Bloody Bullshot from The Smirnoff Brunch Book (1971).
And here is a 1971 Bedroom Brunch ad featuring the Bloody Bullshot:
The rest of the world has been sent out of town, and Phil should have gone, too, since he works as a pharmaceutical sales rep in the Midwest North Central Territory out of the Omaha home office. But instead, he and Shelby had a knock-around private sort of day. No plans, no visits, just the perfect opportunity for Phil to announce that he’s quit his job to write the Great American Novel. Shelby nearly chokes on her piece of rye toast and wishes it was water and not some insane vodka/tomato juice/beef bouillon on her breakfast tray. Smirnoff leaves you breathless. And homeless, in Phil’s case, since Shelby kicked him out and he’s staying at the Motel 6.
So you know, I’m thinking I’m so special, the brunch is so special, and Mr. Sauce, Esq. is gonna love it!
Well, Mr. Sauce, Esq. hated it. Hated the quiche, hated the Bloody Bullshot.
He did, however enjoy the Canadian bacon and the chocolate croissant. So at least he ate something.
I thought the onion quiche was acceptable.
But no one ever needs a Bloody Bullshot. At least in my house.
1/5 on the Tomato Scale.
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They look ridiculous! He went to bed at 2 with a 10 & woke up at 10 with a 2. She looks like she may have slipped him a mickey and is watching for it to take effect. We drink Bloody Bulls in the winter & I like them. Also, maybe the quiche needs regular bacon cooked in it. Not round bacon on the side.
I'll bet the quiche would have been a little better if the onions had been caramelized, but that must impart too much flavor for the 1970s. Tiny flavors and tiny beds. And what a waste of a Bloody Mary!
Tiny flavors and tiny beds sounds like the title of a memoir.
Oh boy, the glaring male chauvinism of 70s smirnoff ads continues! This had to be from a men’s magazine. The smug, smiling Phil’s form fills almost half the page, while there isn’t too much can say about Shelby; except totally forgot women wore curly hair this way back then. Wow
Playboy!
I recognize that tray! I think maybe we had that same set when I was a kid. Or grandma? Somebody.
All I know is that waking up to an onion quiche and a bloody bullshot would wreck my digestive system for the entire day.
LOL