Champions of Breakfast

"All happiness depends on a leisurely breakfast." --John Gunther--

I have never been a morning person. I’m the type of individual who hits the snooze button several times before crawling out of bed on a work day. If left to my own devices on a weekend, I can easily sleep until noon (yes, sometimes later). I resent getting up so much that I ignore people and snarl if spoken to before I’ve digested my coffee. If required to communicate, I will be incoherent and likely come across as neurologically damaged.

But I love breakfast.

It should be clarified that I don’t enjoy breakfast in the morning. I skipped breakfast during my academic years until I learned that this habit would slow down my metabolism and make me rounder than I already was. Today, I still have no appetite in the a.m. but I will choke down a crumpet or slice of toast before heading off to work, if only to curb the mid-morning stomach growls.

Yet the idea of having eggs and toast for supper or sourdough blueberry pancakes at 3 a.m. gives me the warm and fuzzies. “All Day Breakfast” is one of my favorite phrases in the English language. Even though I am a confirmed night owl, I recognize and appreciate the fact that breakfast dishes are intended to wake you up and fuel your brain and body for the challenging day (or night) ahead.

Imagine my glee when I spotted the October issue of Saveur magazine – its theme was breakfast. Most fascinating to me is the series of essays and pictorials on breakfasts around the world. Some things are universal: breads, pastries, eggs, potatoes, drink staples like fruit juices, teas and coffee, and breakfast meats (predominantly pork) seem to turn up everywhere in one form or other. However, Laotians start their day with a steaming bowl of khao soi, a rice noodle soup topped with spicy pork. Mexico is the home of chilaquiles, a piquant dish consisting of fried tortillas, salsa, herbs and shredded meat. Seafood like raw fish and fish paste make their way into the breakfast dishes of Singapore.

Whenever I eat out for breakfast or brunch, I tend to choose dishes that I wouldn't normally make for myself at home. That includes freshly made waffles, pancakes, steak & eggs, giant fruit platters, elaborate omelettes, and the king of breakfast egg dishes: Eggs Benedict. Once in a blue moon, on a lazy weekend morning, I like to pull all the stops and make a lavish brunch for one.

And so, I recently tackled the Eggs Benedict. Two weekends in a row, in fact. The first time was when my parents came to visit over Thanksgiving weekend. I had baby spinach and Berkshire pork belly on hand, so those went into the dish along with the English muffins and poached eggs. My hollandaise sauce on that occasion was a disaster: I had forgotten to buy butter in advance, so the only substitute I came up with was margarine. This should serve as a reminder that sometimes ingredients are chosen for legitimate reasons and therefore foolish to replace. Without the necessary fat, my sauce turned into a vinaigrette. (Only after the fact did it occur to me that mayonnaise -- which I had -- would have worked well in place of butter.)

The disappointment over the sauce made me want to do it again the following weekend. This time, I used Canadian bacon for the meat. I had no spinach left so there were no greens except a side of pan-fried asparagus drizzled with balsamic vinegar and butter. Finally, the hollandaise became a beautiful creamy yellow thanks to the magic of butter.

Poaching eggs is as satisfying to me as meditation. Jacques Pepin and "The New Kitchen Science" have taught me that the keys to perfectly poaching eggs are to:

• use a generous amount of water in the pot,
• add roughly 1/4 to 1/2 cup of white vinegar to the water (more if boiling in a giant pot),
• swirl the gently boiling water with a spoon before slipping in one egg at a time,
• cook the eggs only a couple of minutes if you like the yolks runny, and
  
• dunk the cooked eggs briefly in cold water, then drain them on paper towels.

I love that moment when you cut into a poached egg and the bright yolk starts oozing out, forcing you to swab at it with scraps of bread.