Why Is It Called Bottomless Brunch?

There are few phrases in modern hospitality quite as cheerfully unapologetic as bottomless brunch. Two words that promise both civility and abandon, structure and indulgence. It has become the defining ritual of the British weekend, a standing engagement for friends, colleagues, and families who understand that the hours between morning and afternoon can be their own small theatre of pleasure.

But as with many modern inventions, the phrase deserves interrogation. Why bottomless? Why brunch? What does it say about how we eat, drink, and socialise in an age that seems permanently in motion? To answer that, one must go back, not to London, nor to Manhattan, but to a modest British essay written more than a century ago, in which the word brunch first appeared in print.

The Rise of Brunch and the Sixes Evolution

The term brunch was coined in 1895 by Guy Beringer, a British writer with a delicate constitution and a keen sense of practicality. In his article Brunch: A Plea, he proposed a late-morning meal for those who had “caroused” on Saturday nights and could not face an early breakfast. It was, he wrote, to be cheerful, sociable, and forgiving, “a pleasant, talk-compelling meal.”

It was a revolutionary notion: food as recovery, but also as society. In an age when breakfast was brisk and lunch formal, brunch was liberation. Over the decades, it migrated to America, where it became theatrical, buffets in New York hotels, champagne in Palm Springs, and the unhurried decadence of Sunday in Manhattan.

When the concept returned to Britain, it came with a transatlantic gleam and a hint of irony. The British, ever fond of moderation, adapted it to our temperament, with less champagne and more conversation, less spectacle and more rhythm. Brunch became not just a meal but a state of mind.

And nowhere is that state better expressed than at Sixes Cricket, the venue that redefined sociable dining for a generation that prefers experience to performance.

At Sixes Cricket, brunch is never background noise. It is the soundtrack to play, cricket reimagined as convivial ritual, served with warmth and well-judged hospitality. Guests face the batting nets between courses, laughter rising as digital bowlers test reflexes. Plates of proper British comfort food arrive as naturally as conversation, and glasses refill at that magical pace which feels both generous and discreet.

It is the modern incarnation of what Beringer proposed: a meal that bridges activity and ease, indulgence and civility. The play provides rhythm; the food and drink provide pleasure. Together, they form the purest expression of what bottomless brunch was always meant to be, structured spontaneity, perfectly timed.

The Semantics of “Bottomless”

The adjective bottomless first appeared in English in the late 14th century, describing something unfathomable, literally without a bottom, infinite, immeasurable. Over time, it came to mean endless or inexhaustible.

When applied to brunch, the word acquires a new and distinctly modern irony. Of course, nothing is truly bottomless. There are time limits, glassware, and gravity. Yet the word captures the emotional truth of the experience, the sense that, for a couple of hours, time and restraint might be politely suspended.

It speaks to a cultural longing for abundance, not necessarily of alcohol, but of attention, laughter, and generosity. To be bottomless is to be unconstrained. The appeal lies not in the literal refilling of glasses but in the feeling that one’s needs are anticipated before they are expressed.

In the best venues, this is not chaos but choreography. Service becomes invisible, pacing immaculate. The glass is never empty, nor is it overfull. The experience flows, as good hospitality should, on quiet intuition.

The Theatre of Abundance

There is something innately theatrical about the idea of bottomless brunch. It is a carefully managed illusion of limitless pleasure, an invitation to participate in a communal performance of leisure. Guests take their seats, and the curtain rises on the first pour.

The structure is simple but effective. A set menu anchors the occasion; timed refills create rhythm; conversation supplies the narrative arc. And at the heart of it lies the unspoken understanding that everyone is there to relax without apology.

It is not, as cynics sometimes suggest, about excess. The finest bottomless brunches are exercises in proportion. The food must balance the drink, and the service must balance the mood. There is a reason the experience appeals as much to families as to friendship groups: it is sociable rather than indulgent, communal rather than competitive.

This is why the concept translates so effortlessly to places like Sixes, where activity itself becomes part of the theatre. The batting cage is the new dining table, and applause replaces small talk. It is brunch, yes, but not as your grandmother would recognise it.

A Brief History of Controlled Indulgence

The combination of food, drink, and gentle permissiveness is hardly new. The Victorians had their garden parties; the Edwardians their champagne breakfasts. What distinguishes bottomless brunch is its formality disguised as freedom, a fixed window of unhurried pleasure usually bounded by an hour and a half.

Sociologists have pointed out that it fits perfectly into the modern professional’s schedule. Leisure, like work, has become compartmentalised. Yet within those ninety minutes lies the illusion of endlessness, a world where time is kind, laughter flows, and the only calendar entry that matters reads simply brunch.

In that sense, the term bottomless is not exaggeration but aspiration. It names a desire for moments that expand, the fantasy of leisure unmeasured.

The British Refinement

When the format returned to the UK, it shed some of its American excess and acquired something subtler: rhythm, conversation, and texture. The British approach treats brunch as social punctuation rather than performance.

Our venues are smaller, our service quieter, and our humour drier. Instead of bottomless buffets, we prefer plated dishes with craft and context such as smoked salmon with a squeeze of lemon, a soft poached egg, and a cocktail made with real finesse.

It is no coincidence that the experience flourished in places like London, Manchester, and Birmingham, cities where pace meets culture and people prize a good atmosphere above mere volume.

The British bottomless brunch is therefore less about quantity and more about quality sustained. The drinks are curated, the food thoughtful. It is indulgence redefined through taste.

Hospitality as Art Form

To run a proper bottomless brunch service is no small feat. It requires precision disguised as spontaneity, a balance between attentiveness and ease. Staff must read the room as a conductor reads an orchestra: tempo, volume, and tone.

Every detail matters. The kitchen must deliver consistency without pause; the bar, agility without haste. The goal is to create the impression of abundance without excess, flow without frenzy.

This is what distinguishes the merely serviceable from the truly memorable. A good brunch fills you; a great one feels orchestrated. Sixes achieves this with remarkable finesse, the pace of play dictating the rhythm of the meal, the service aligning with the energy of the group. Nothing feels imposed, yet everything unfolds as though rehearsed.

It is hospitality as choreography, not spectacle, and that is where the real craft lies.

The Social Psychology of Sharing

Bottomless brunch thrives because it satisfies two modern instincts: the desire for connection and the need for permission. It gives adults a socially acceptable frame for indulgence and friends a fixed occasion for reunion.

The group dynamic matters more than the menu. The collective laughter, the shared photos, and the inevitable toast are the true outputs. In a world increasingly digital and dispersed, the simple act of eating and drinking together acquires renewed significance.

At Sixes, this instinct is heightened by activity. Shared sport dissolves hierarchy, unites strangers, and sustains laughter. The cricket nets break down formality faster than any bottle of prosecco ever could.

Thus lies the brilliance of the concept: an ancient game made modern, a meal made sociable, and a weekend ritual given form.

What “Bottomless” Really Means

To call a brunch “bottomless” is, finally, to acknowledge its spirit rather than its logistics. It is not the refills that define it but the atmosphere, that sense of being looked after and of having one’s time expanded.

It is a small rebellion against rush and routine. For a couple of hours, life slows, the world tilts towards laughter, and the usual calculations of time, cost, and restraint fall away.

At its best, the experience feels timeless: no pressure to move on, no insistence on next steps. Just good food, gentle play, and the luxury of being present.

The Modern Standard

A century after Beringer’s original essay, brunch has evolved beyond his imagination, yet it still serves his purpose: to make late mornings sociable, humane, and filled with laughter.

Venues such as Sixes demonstrate how far the tradition has travelled and how gracefully it can adapt. Here, the meal is more than sustenance; it is a medium for connection. The drinks may be bottomless, but so too are the conversation, the camaraderie, and the gentle art of unhurried pleasure.

It turns out the phrase was perfectly chosen. “Bottomless” is not about excess but about generosity. The kind that keeps refilling the glass, yes, but also the kind that keeps the table alive with warmth.

And that, in the end, is why it is called bottomless brunch.