Feed Me

I've figured out something that I really miss living in France. It's that "all-you-can-eat-breakfast" experience. The one where you stroll into a restaurant and just gorge yourself on all those wonderful fried breakfast foods.

On days like today, grey and chilly outside, I miss heading down to a breakfast cafe for a real kick start to the day. Eggs, hashbrowns, pancakes, sausages, syrup, and the wonderful bottomless cup of coffee. All served to me with a smile by someone who's going to clear my table and not ask me to do the dishes.

My French friends don't understand the attraction to such a meal and no matter how I try to explain it, there is definitely something lost in translation. For them, a crusty baguette smothered with good butter and jam, chased down by orange juice and a creamy yogurt, is a lovely way to start the day.

It's just that for me, there's something lacking when your breakfast doesn't have some sort of sauce left clinging to the plate, be it baked beans, ketchup, or sour cream from huevos rancheros. I want to be warm from the inside out. Full of grease and a half caf latte, licking my fingers as I wobble outside, adjusting my buckle and thinking I won't eat again till dinner.

As it is, I'm going to head to the kitchen and have some cereal. I forgot to buy bread yesterday so even the idea of a warm baguette with jam isn't possible. You have no idea what I'd give for a bagel right about now. One that's toasted perfectly and then hidden under Hollandaise drenched Eggs Benedict.

That being said, looks like it's mock Cheerios and instant decaf again this morning. Tell me that just doesn't get you all excited?