Doing a breakfast-palooza was a no-brainer for me, though I do not eat breakfast with any regularity at all; mostly my days begin with at least three cups of espresso (thanks to Arash and his amazing gift of the Francis) and then some kind of lunch around 4pm. It's probably not the best way to set myself up for success nutritionally speaking, or as a practice of self-love, but it is what it is. When I do have breakfast or brunch it's nothing short of a celebration.
We didn't really eat breakfast when I was a kid, either. I remember that there were sugary cereals in the pantry for Saturday mornings when my mom would sleep in and my brother and I would get up early to watch cartoons (why, exactly, can I not get excited enough about anything to get me out of bed at 6am these days?), and there was the occasional pouch of instant grits that I would float a stick of butter on. And Mom would make bigfoot pancakes for us on very special occasions, the treatiest of all possible treats, when she would whip up bisquik in her bathrobe and, using a spoon and guiding the batter with her tiny little finger, add little drops that would form "toes" on the top of the browning-in-butter edges of the flap jacks. I always knew something great had happened when bigfoot pancakes would show up in the morning and I still can't help but get a little rush when I smell butter foaming in a pan.
I've said it before, but I think it bears repeating: food is a nostalgic experience. It's full of the details of our memory and emotions which is why it can sometimes be addictive. It is comfort, reward, celebration, and sometimes punishment. For me it's a connection to my family, to the narrative of my life, my parents' lives, my grandfather's stories...and breakfast is the very beginning and the base for everything during the day, which makes it unique.
