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.
Breakfast
Breakfast
French Toast at 4
It’s 4 o’clock on Sunday afternoon, and like any well-adjusted
twentysomething, I’m eating breakfast. More specifically, I’m having
brioche french toast and cappuccino at the Little Next Door on 3rd with
my friend Gloria. After living in LA for six months, I have determined
that breakfast in the afternoon is exactly the sort of reckless
behavior Sundays demand.
Typically in New York, Sundays amounted to consumption of greasy brunch
complemented by mimosas and black coffee. Following brunch was an
inevitable headache, followed by more consumption in the form of
excessive window-shopping, followed by an indulgent nap upon what
appeared to be a laundry pile, but was in fact my bed.
Waffling
The Waffle House is sort of the unofficial flower of the Southern
Interstate exit. Driving North from the Gulf Coast on I-65 for the past
two years, I have seen the yellow signs blossoming in hamlets from
Alabama to Kentucky, and been intrigued, imagining fluffy waffles with
real syrup, folksy waitresses with coffee pots, and an enlightening
cross section of humanity. My path to Waffle Nirvana was blocked only
by my mother, who has a phobia about unclean public bathrooms which I
believe is a gene-linked trait in Jewish women of her generation.
Having been a teacher, she is able to “hold it” like a camel retains
water in the desert, but during the long trip home from Florida she
insists, not unreasonably, that we choose lunch stops at restaurants
where she can use the restrooms without sedation.
The Messiah Pancake
Once upon a time, when my future husband and I had just started dating,
he called me one Saturday morning to see what I was up to. I was in the
car with my friend Phoebe and a trunk full of laundry.
“We’re going to Michael Green’s for breakfast,” I said. I had him on my
Reagan-era car phone, which had a curly cord and a speakerphone, which
may as well have been a tin can attached to a length of string.
Peter thought about this for a moment. “Is that a restaurant or a person’s house?” he asked.
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
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