I don’t know if you’ve met me, but I’m pretty big on breakfast. A breakfast enthusiast. Some may even deign to call me a breakfast radical. To me, breaking the fast is like the first race in the series that is our day, it sets the tone, it primes us for what’s coming, it’s also completely, undeniably tasty.
Maybe my love for breakfast coincides with my tendency to rise early. I’ve pretty much always functioned on “the sky is awake and so am I” motto, and there are few images that get my heart pumping more than the steam rising from a cup of coffee into the streaming morning light.
Alternatively, upon self psychoanalysis, I think my care for the morning meal could be an overcompensation for my parent’s indifference towards it (after all, according to the Lumineers, that is the opposite of love). My mom, in classic superwoman style, always put my breakfast before her own, got caught up in the current of raising a teenage tornado and ended up not eating until 1 pm. My dad, on the other hand, established regular breakfast habits consisting on microwave coffee and whatever we had for dinner the night before, bqq pizza, or maybe a nice jalapeño taco.
Again, another reason I may love breakky could be all of its health benefits. Although 33% of Americans skip breakfast regularly, it has been proven to keep us slim, smart, and active. If we’re being honest, I could care less about being slim, already feel pretty smart and live a life that requires me to be active.
While these are great explanations, I preferred to believe that I loved breakfast for its essence, as an end in itself. Or so I thought.
Aside from a special waffle brunch here and there, I always, ALWAYS, have a bowl of oatmeal for breakfast. But it is so much more than a bowl of oatmeal. Half a banana, a handful of fruit, sprinkle of granola, taste of honey, scoop of yogurt, spoon of peanut butter and topping of hot oatmeal creates for me a culmination of all there is to love about the morning. Warm, fruity, wholesome and nutty, these bowls are all I want when I rise from bed. So then I started thinking…maybe it’s not breakfast I love, but, rather..oatmeal?
NO! I refused to believe it. I couldn’t let my conception of breakfast crumble like a dry pancake. Thus, I embarked on a journey, along with my first mate, Erika, to have something different for breakfast every morning for a week, to explore the world I knew I loved.
Day 1: The happy pirate.
A little uninspired, but 105% of your protein needed for the day, which is nice.
Day 2: The relapse. The first three days are the hardest, folks.
Day 3: The rebound.
Day 4: The honeymoon period.
Day 5: The I-woke-up-late-and-need-to-overcompensate-on-calories
Day 6: The pre-acai hippie
Day 7: The celebration
Needless to say, I thoroughly enjoyed, loved, even, every single one of my breakfasts this week. I am not just an oatmeal lover. I am a breakfast lover, I just needed to practice some of the other disciplines.
Speaking of practice, we’re also working on the perfect cup of coffee. It takes time.
Peace, love and pancakes,