THERE ARE THOUSANDS AND THOUSANDS OF FOOD BLOGS, BUT ONLY ONE CULINARY NO-NO!

You see them.

In the morning.

Almost every morning.

Groups of men.

The same men.

At the same table.

In the same place.

Drinking coffee.

Swapping stories.

Linley Sanders of the Kansas City Star wrote about this phenomenon in June of 2014. Her article included this photo:

The Worthless Men’s Breakfast Club convenes on Wednesdays for coffee, complaining and comradeship at a Hy-Vee supermarket’s restaurant in Independence.  Photo: FRED BLOCHER The Kansas City Star

Sanders captured the appeal of these clubs that are meeting daily all across the country.

Outside a Gladstone McDonald’s, it’s raining. And there’s a flood warning. But Bill Rohde and his group of five is unfazed.

“This is nothing,” Rohde said, glancing out the window at the downpour. “Not like the floods of 1951.”

His buddies nod and echo sounds of agreement. He’s referring to the Kaw River flood, when old junkyard cars had to be piled to reinforce the levee. But not many people remember that anymore, he said.

The ones who do are sitting with him, sipping coffee and chatting, like they’ve been doing almost every day for the past 27 years. All over Kansas City, variations of this activity aren’t unusual for older men.

There are similar meetings at many grocery stores, fast-food restaurants and coffee shops around the city.

“The group of us, we can talk about stuff like that that other people can’t relate to,” Jerry Miller, 75, said. “It makes it easier for a group like us. We can relate to each other.”

Like clockwork, these groups meet each morning. And it’s an understated part of society — though not one that should be underestimated. After all, men have been gossiping over coffee since it arrived on the wharves of Europe. Historian Charles Colby notes that even in 17th-century London, every sect of people had a coffeehouse meeting place where witty conversation could be heard.

The tradition continues, and 21st-century Kansas City is no exception. No fliers advertised social clubs for retirees. But somehow, the groups formed. And somehow, the groups stayed. Often their banter sounds like the plot for a “Grumpy Old Men” spin-off. But each week, come rain or snow, a morning brew accompanies their wisecracks and discussion.

On occasion I stop during the early morning at the Hardee’s right off the expressway in Delafield.  In the back corner eight elderly gentlemen hold court. Can’t miss ’em. They’re a daily fixture.

One day I noticed a change. There were only seven. One gent was missing.

That person’s absence made me immediately think of this guy:

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