THE BREAKFAST CLUB OF KEY WEST
 The Breakfast Club was introduce to me by a couple who had recently relocated to Tampa. I had heard tales of the dishonorable morning tradition. Initially, I was rather skeptical. Consuming alcohol in the morning is not my style. Hair of the dog was supposed to be for salty sailors and sea hags. This morning in the spirit of adventure I will expand my horizons.
7:30 AM
Reluctantly I roll out of bed and wipe the sleep from my eyes. On the floor is a faded shirt and pair of khaki shorts from yesterdays night on the town. I quickly dress in the wrinkled clothing and attempt to clean myself up. While brushing my teeth I look in the mirror at my sunken eyes and unshaven face. God I look like hell. I grab my wallet and keys from atop the dresser. Now it’s out the door to meet a group of friends for “The Breakfast Club“. The destination is the Schooner Wharf Bar along Key West’s historic seaport.
8:00 AM
Its five o’clock somewhere but certainly not in Key West, Florida. The seven of us arrive to the Schooner Wharf Bar for happy hour. We each grab a weather-beaten wooden barstool and belly up to the open air bar. The first round of cocktails is ordered. Bloody Marys and Screwdrivers are the drinks of choice but some professionals choose bottled beer. Bob the bartender quickly serves up round one with a smile.
8:25 AM
A pleasant gentleman and a long time Schooner Wharf bartender, Bob serves the second round of drinks as the breakfast club begins to awaken and conversations liven.
9:00 AM
Round three is upon us and the mood temporally turns somber. This was a bitter-sweet time to be in the Conch Republic. Hurricane Wilma ravaged Key West only two short weeks ago. There was terrible devastation all throughout mid town, new town and portions of old town. I sensed frustration on the face of every Conch(local person) that I spoke to this week and Bob was no exception. Bob shares with us that his entire house was flooded during the hurricane. Everything he owned was lost. He places a envelop of photographs atop the bar. Bob shows us picture after picture of his devastated home and property. I distinctly remember a photograph of a cat and dog clinging to furniture as it floated within his flooded home.
9:30 AM
We graciously tip Bob for the excellent service and wish him well as we leave for the Green Parrot Bar. We leisurely stroll across town. To our dismay, the Green Parrot does not open until ten o’clock. Not to panic. Resourcefully the seven of us put our intoxicated heads together. Alas, the Blue Heaven restaurant is open for breakfast and serving beverages.
9:35 AM
We enter the funky Bahamian Village and belly up at Blue Heaven’s bar for round four. The bartender prepares my screwdriver with top shelf vodka and fresh squeezed orange juice. The vicious pour of vodka is more than generous. The Breakfast Club is in full swing. Our seven free spirited souls now have greater connection.
10:20 AM
We pick up the bar tab. The bill’s total is considerably higher than the Schooner Wharf. A friend snickers at the difference in cost. No complaints from me. We got what we paid for- a premium cocktail from a fabulous dining establishment. Our bartender overhears our conversation and sympathetically gives us the next round of drinks on the house-complimentary “roadies” in to-go cups is round five.
10:30 AM
The Green Parrot Bar is finally open. The beverages begin to diversify. Round six includes beer, rum and coke, and gin on the rocks. No sniveling. After a bathroom break it is on to Margaritaville.
11:25 AM
The breakfast club lurches into Jimmy Buffett’s Margaritaville. Our loud voices are heard throughout the restaurant. I overhear the hostess say “this looks like trouble“ as we are seated at the bar. Honestly, I couldn’t disagree with the lass. Beer, rum and soda, gin on the rocks and a daiquiri make round seven.
I must point out, that at this point I have yet to see one egg, sausage or pancake. Even the greasy smell of bacon was unmistakably absent.
12:05 PM
It’s high noon. The sun is hot. The Breakfast Club sends one “baked” member home in a cab. Then there are six. Onward and upward. Next stop Captain Tony’s Saloon.
We belly up to the bar at Captain Tony’s. The breakfast club has entered round number eight of this heavy weight event. The poison of choice was beer, rum and soda, and the Hemmingway daiquiri Papa Dobles. Syllables begin to slur and the vision blurs but spirit stays strong. The Conch Train passes on Green Street as the Breakfast Club leaves the bar. The Breakfast Club antagonistically waves to the passing train full of tourists. A friend hoisted his glass in the air and yells at the passing train “you can’t get this on the tour”.
1:00 PM
The club staggers its way to The White Tarpon for the ninth and final round. On the way to the White Tarpon a member of the group takes a header into a street sign. His right frontal scalp is scraped but falls short of hemorrhaging. The excoriation was appropriately diagnosed by a inebriated clinician within the group. “It’s merely a flesh wound”, he exclaimed with a smile. We order take out from Damn Good Food to be delivered to the bar. Food at last. Food at last. Thank god almighty, it’s food at last!
There are lessons to be learned from the exercise called the Breakfast club. Superficially the lessons may be to drink responsively, not to drink in the morning, or not to drink at all. I prefer to scratch a little deeper and look below the surface. Underneath it all, I shared a charming experience with some close friends. This morning I saw the beautiful and historic island of Key West from a different perspective. The sounds, smells, and sun light were more pure. The experience was much more personal. It was before the droves of tourists, had yet left the cruise ships and flooded the streets. This morning I was able to shake hands with Conchs(locals). We shared in their sorrows and celebrated their independence. Their lives and this special morning touched us in a profound way. We are the Breakfast Club and we stand tall. |
