Breakfast – Dad’s

Breakfast, I am convinced, should be the leisurely meal. What better time than when the sun is fresh and the mind is not yet weighed down by the day? The tomatoes will never seem as red and succulent, the olives never so piquant, the cheese never so savory. Will birds chirp during the evening meal? Will the sky be as blue and crystalline? Will all the questions which might be answered “yes” be shifted to “no” by the time the gravy is poured on the potatoes? There is a promise held close by every dawning day that is sometimes swept away by the dusk.

I’ve decided that I disagree with the Countess Von Armin who said “I am convinced that the Muses and the Graces never thought of having breakfast anywhere but in bed.” Instead, I would rather sit at this table, stir heavy cream into the strong black coffee, pick apart a pastry with my fingers, spear tomatos and olives and cheese with a lazy fork, smile at my companion and believe in the promises the morning whispered in my ear.

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