My mother prepared us breakfast every day of the week because she was
not about to send us off to school on an empty stomach. Yet the only
day I really remember eating breakfast was on Saturday. Not because she
cooked an elaborate spread, but because we were left to fend for
ourselves. It was the one morning my parents slept in – probably only
to about 8 or 9, but it seemed like all morning and it was a thrill to be without parental supervision in the dining room. My siblings and I weren’t what
you’d call “skilled” in the culinary arts, but we were quite capable of
pouring a bowl cereal…and that’s where the trouble started.
These were the days before whole grains, when cereal was “crack” for
kids, so filled with sugar one bowl probably exceeded your daily
nutritional requirements for carbohydrates. There was no fiber to be found and we LOVED it. While in
grammar school, we were allowed to “request” our favorite brand, but my
mother had a strict food budget, so we never knew what we were
actually going to find in the cupboard. If your choice was on sale,
then it was your lucky week and the world was your oyster.
Breakfast
Breakfast
L.A. Breakfasts Making a Comeback
From the L.A. Times
When Campanile stopped serving daily breakfast a decade ago, the regulars (but
obviously not enough of them) who'd made a cappuccino and pastry or
poached eggs and ham at the restaurant part of their morning routine
were devastated. They had become accustomed to using the white
tablecloth restaurant as an office away from the office. Over a
sumptuous breakfast, they would meet clients, hold meetings, plot goals
and projects. Screenwriters scribbled, actors pored over scripts and
there may already have been a few bloggers at their keyboards. And then
it ended (except for weekend brunch, which is still going strong).
If Campanile couldn't keep breakfast going, what ambitious restaurant could? Du-par's and the Original Pantry rarely venture beyond the basics. Yet there's reason for optimism:
After several years of deprivation for diners, the L.A. breakfast is
making a comeback.
Summer of Love
In the summer of 1966 I worked as a dishwasher in a summer camp near Hunter Mountain in upstate New York. This was in the pre-automatic dishwasher days meaning dirty dishes were dumped in a super hot sink of soapy water and washed and dried by hand. I used to come in around 6 a.m. to clean the breakfast pots and pans. Henry, a very tall, rail thin man who had been a cook in World War II in Europe, had gotten there at least an hour before me; I usually found him smoking a filterless cigarette and slowly beating powdered eggs and water in a huge stainless steel bowl or ladling out pancakes on the football field-size griddle.
Though he was cooking for well over 150 people every morning he never seemed to be in a rush. Though there was no air conditioning and an eight burner stove going full blast, Henry barely broke a sweat. I started sweating from the moment I got there; and being a not very bright 14-year-old, I often compounded my problems by forgetting to use an oven mitt when picking up a hot pan or getting scalding hot water in my rubber washing gloves.
America's Worst Breakfast Foods
From Men's Health
It’s hard to overestimate the importance of eating breakfast. Studies
show that people who take time for a morning meal consume fewer
calories over the course of the day, have stronger cognitive skills,
and are 30 percent less likely to be overweight or obese. Beyond that, people who skip breakfast are more likely to drink alcohol and smoke, and they’re less likely to exercise.
But
just because breakfast is the most important meal of the day doesn’t
grant you permission to go into a feeding frenzy. But that’s exactly
what many of the country’s most popular breakfast joints are setting
you up for, by peddling fatty scrambles, misguided muffins, and
pancakes that look like manhole covers.
Worst Side Dish
Burger King Hash Browns (large)
620 calories
40 g fat (11 g saturated; 13 g trans)
1,200 mg sodium
60 g carbs
The Waffle Iron
Who knew that making waffles could be so fraught with symbolism and stress? As a single woman, I never gave a thought about waffles, irons or, come to think about it, marriage. One day my mother called to say she couldn't, just couldn't send me a waffle iron. Why? She had read a "Cathy" comic strip where Cathy's mother went on her usual neurotic rant about how she couldn't buy Cathy a waffle iron because waffle irons meant children, which meant marriage, which meant husbands, none of which Cathy had.
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