I smelled burning bread when I woke up, a clear sign that DF was fixing himself some breakfast. When I got to the kitchen I found he’d split and toasted two homemade rolls in the same frying pan used to cook a salmon burger and some onions.
By “toasted,” I mean that one half-roll was as black as the inside of a brunette cow. The other three halves were brown with cinderized rims. DF’s motto for his own food prep is simple: If it’s smoking, it’s cooking; if it’s charred, it’s done. Then again, he used to eat burnt match-heads when he was a little boy.
Burned bread, sizzled onions and a salmon patty: The breakfast of champions. It could just as easily have been leftover fish chowder, or leftover chili with rice. Or oatmeal with flax seed but no milk. Or nothing but coffee, if he’s fasting for religious reasons. His idea of breakfast is much more flexible than mine.
I almost always have oatmeal, although yesterday it was toast and fruit and homemade yogurt because we were out of milk. (I like a looser oat than DF does.) Neither way is necessarily better: Breakfast is, or should be, whatever works for you. If more people felt that way, they could save a lot of money.
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Early this afternoon I had my camera-up-the-windward-passage exam. After having given up seedy foods for a week (including, alas, popcorn) and having spent a day and a half doing the not-fun (but not unbearable) prep, I am good for another five years.
