I am not big on breakfast but give me a salmon croquette or cold fried chicken accompanied with hot corn bread or a warm croissant to compliment a bowl of my favorite summer fruits -- juicy peaches, red ripe raspberries, orange cantaloupe, green honey dew -- any given morning. My family is from the south. When I visited my relatives in Little Rock, AK back in the 90’s, my 80-year-young great aunt was up well before sunrise stirring around in the kitchen. I thought I got up early, but by the time my nose woke me from a comfortable snooze in a room filled with clean morning breeze, she had prepared chicken and dumplings as the main course for the fresh melon she had picked from out back, cut and placed in a lovely bowl to whet my appetite. I hated to tell her that I was no longer used to devouring big country breakfast meals and hadn’t done so in years. I was raised on scrambled eggs, pork bacon or sausage, toast or biscuits made from scratch (I never leave home without my recipe securely tucked in my bag). When my grandmother from Virginia came to visit or we were at her house in Hampton, the platter may have also been graced with oh so salty Smithfield ham, grits, and her own fruit preserves, maybe some fried fish.
My palette totally shifted after I left home and went to college. There was a restaurant/bakery on Columbia Road called Avignon Frères that introduced me to the croissant. I visited them as often as I could to treat myself to one buttery fold of dough -- delicate golden flaky crust outside, soft velvety melt in your mouth inside. They were so seriously scrumptious that from the first bite I knew that petit déjeuner would never be the same for me. Sometimes I would scoff it down, more often with slow deliberation I would pull it apart extending the pleasure it brought to my tongue, mouth and tummy. If I had a little extra change, I would sit down at a table and order a dish of fruit to accompany my delicacy. I refer to it as such because as a student, I didn’t have lots of money to throw away, this truly was an indulgence.
Thinking back, a croissant was one dollar if that; when you’re an unemployed student trying to finish your degree every penny counts. But I knew how to turn a simple
thing into a luxury that I relished, something I forgot when I graduated and started making money. It took a financial downfall on my big old tush to remind me that being able to afford something as small as a piece of baked bread was all that was needed to make my day. I am grateful for what I learned and rediscovered in the valley of I can’t pay my bills. When I climbed out, knees scuffed clothing tattered, I was a better gal who took nothing for granted. The lesson has since taken on another meaning as I attempt to be more mindful about being wasteful; buying only what I will eat then eating it before it goes bad takes some doing. My friend who pens
www.thatskinnylittlebitch.blogspot.com has adapted that attitude when it comes to food, both in shopping for it and preparation. She takes great care to plan meals for the week in an effort to waste nothing and gives a whole new meaning to appreciating every single item purchased. Good things come to those who do not waste, I am taking copious notes from her which brings me back to breakfast.
I make it a practice to eat something every morning but have never returned to the type of meal
my family ate when I was younger. A heavy breakfast weighs me down plus I NEVER liked eggs in the first place unless every mouthful was paired with a morsel of bacon or sausage. I will whip up a batch of scones or buttermilk biscuits if friends are around along with baked spiced apples doused in a secret liqueur and a baked egg and crab dish that I actually enjoy. However, fruit, croissants and a glass of champagne is my preference but a buzzed mind is a terrible
thing to waste on a weekday so on occasion that’s the weekend treat. Cold pizza and champagne is good…ok, another Sat/Sun meal…well, let’s just say my Monday – Friday AM taste leans towards breakfast lite from foods more commonly found on lunch and dinner menus sans the alcoholic beverage. Come to think of it, I always did like pancakes for dinner.
keep your peepers open! ®
I’m a chicklet who puts on clothes based on what earrings I’m feelin’. How am I to know what I’m going to want to adorn me three days from now? So choices must at my fingertips and I mean lots of them or I could get the shakes! What else can I say except once an addict always an addict. I’ve traded over dosing on fabrics for heavy metal comas (and I had the audacity to buy yet another pair of ornamentations for the ear at my favorite airport haunt while in transit... how many ounce, I mean pouches is that?).
...back on Sunday. Until then… 
