Posts Tagged: breakfast

happy weekend breakfast

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Saute onions. Add kale and grape tomatoes.

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Cook up some bacon.

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Break up some bread.

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Crack some eggs.  Beat in some milk, salt, pepper and a few drops of hot sauce.

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Layer all that stuff on top of the bread. Ensure the egg mixture gets soaked into the bread. Top with cheese.  Let it sit for a few minutes while the oven warms up.

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Bake at 375 for 40 minutes. Enjoy the mmmm sounds coming from across the table.


I think egg strata is one of the best inventions; any combination of whatever's in the fridge can turn into the most satisfying brunch and provides for nutritious leftovers for lunch in the work week. Most recipes will tell you to assemble it the night before to let the egg and bread become one. I never think that far in advance.

This dish makes my main man very happy and that enhances the pleasure of putting the lovely thing together on a lazy weekend morn.


a summer breakfast

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Still enamoured with the morning light.  Summer mornings make me want to linger…




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Omelette and baked pancetta made by Ceri for breakfast.


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A market vendor was selling two bunches of freesia for $10. Of course I had to.

Easter Sunday we wake up to another beauty day, though clouds roll in later in the afternoon.  I edit pictures and do Friday's blog post and edit more pictures.  Ceri makes breakfast.  Later we walk back to my place.  Kelsey and Jared come over for dinner.  I make pasta with asparagus, peas, pancetta, parmesan, fresh basil and parsley, with salad.  It's delicious, and the company great, though we missed Carly.


winter and food

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Winter came back today, and considering the -10°C temps, what does one do?  Eat!  After Saturday breakfast of scrambled eggs, peameal bacon, toast and fruit, I made a double batch of baked quinoa patties.  

Later we went to Mia's for an outstanding meal of Pad Thai and Gado Gado salad (hers inspired by Bamboo, a locally famous restaurant that once lived on Queen Street West).  I didn't think to take a picture of it (only thought of diving in), so you're just going to have to imagine how good it was. 

Happy Glorious Peanut Butter

I haven’t bought peanut butter in a long time.  I was reminded of such recently when my sister Jane stayed over for a night, and couldn’t find any peanut butter (or anything else really) to put on her English muffin next morning.  My cupboards are spare.  When you live alone and aren’t feeding kids anymore, you buy what you need.  You don’t buy things in case someone might want them.  You buy the things that will be put together to create your meals and that’s that.

It’s not that I was avoiding peanut butter or anything.  For most of my adult life, it was the warm melty goodness on a Sunday morning’s piece of toast that went back to bed with me and a cup of coffee and CBC radio and whatever book or newspaper or letter was getting my attention that particular weekend.

The main reason I stopped buying peanut butter was because I got rid of my car.  Since I don’t drive anymore, there have been changes to the way I do lots of things, like stopping at the grocery store.  These days I don’t buy to fill the pantry – I buy what I can carry home.  And for the past six months or so, peanut butter hasn’t had a place in the grocery bags I am forever schlepping around.  I guess peanut butter hasn’t been as “schlep-worthy” as other stuff.  It might have been on the grocery list – in fact I’d say it WAS on the list a number of times, but it got superseded by the can of tomatoes or bottle of olive oil which I realised I needed at the last minute, and which I needed more than peanut butter.  When you’re walking home from the grocery store, distributing weight in the bags becomes a priority, and in my little walking home world, it was peanut butter that took the hit. 

So, as it happened yesterday, peanut butter finds its way into one of the grocery bags, and back to my cupboard for the first time in many months. And tonight after doing the dishes, I open the jar and peel back the sealed foil and stick a spoon in and have a little hunk of the stuff.  And I tell you, it is a little spoonful of happy, glorious salty peanuty heaven. There is no piece of Sunday toast that will ever taste as good as that first little spoonful after many months of not schlepping it home because there were other things I “needed” more.

(Even so… me and peanut butter have a date this Sunday morning with my bathrobe and a cup of coffee and CBC Radio and a good book and a piece of toast.)


Copyright © Jennifer Morrison 2009

the transit eaters

This morning, sitting on the subway on my way to work, there is a lady eating pretzels from a bag.  She looks as if she’s sitting in front of the most boring movie ever, absently bringing pretzels to her mouth, chewing listlessly, barely able to keep her eyes open.  She looks like she might be a fun person, with a great, youthful body and clothes, a mishmash of braids pulled up in a wonderfully haphazard way, and she’s got a large set of earphones on.  But nothing about her body is reacting in any way to music or anything else, other than the slow, trance-like movement of pretzel to mouth.  Every now and then her eyes droop, and I wonder if she’s about to fall asleep or if she’s blinking in slow motion along with the bored chewing of pretzel after pretzel.  She gets off at my stop and I’m actually surprised she has the energy to get upright.

I see lots of curious breakfast eating scenarios on the morning commute.  Last week there was a lady who stumbled onto the car loaded down with a number of bags.  She seemed like one of those people who always makes an entrance –always running late, always in a bit of a fluster.  We’re on a short subway line over which there are only five stations.  She gets her shopping bags situated and starts fussing around in one of them and pulls out a bag with a couple of oversized bagels.  She retrieves one of them and drops the other back into the shopping bag, and proceeds to wolf down the untoasted, unembellished bagel in three or four giant bites.  As we’re nearing the end of the line she busts out the other bagel and begins to devour that one in the same fashion.  Of course everyone has her/his own likes and dislikes, but it seems to me this meal was not intended to fulfil the pleasure aspect of eating food – only some kind of hunger.  I just don't see what kind of pleasure could be had in stuffing giant hunks of heavy, dry bread down my gullet.

There was a semi-regular rider on a morning bus I used to take, another middle-aged woman, who would gobble pita sandwiches at a speed that would shock the bagel eater.  She wore office clothing that wasn’t cheap, with coordinating jewellery and pulled together handbag and shoes – prissy looking in a June Cleaver kind of way.  Like many of her peers, she would always sit up front by the driver.  Seeing her eat her sandwiches was painful – there was something surreptitious about it as if she was disposing of evidence.   She would stuff great portions of the pita halves into her mouth in progressive bites (three bites to one mouthful), starting her next progression at the same time she was swallowing the previous.  She was an assembly line of biting, chewing and swallowing, as if she was desperate to get her consumption quota achieved before she reached her destination.

I understand what it’s like to experience a “sugar drop” in the morning and be ravenously hungry.  But it strikes me that not one of these morning eaters exhibit any sort of enjoyment of their food; and of course each one of these ladies has a different circumstance, but also each one of them was not partaking in a meal – each was just depositing food in her body and who knows what the reasons were. 

Another time a grandma came on a bus with a little girl, about one, in a stroller.  The little girl was a cute, girly little thing, with Down Syndrome.  The grandma, as one might expect, fussed over the baby continually.  But soon I became creeped out by the fact that she wouldn’t stop touching the little girl’s face and mouth, alternatively poking at it with a juice bottle and sticking cheesies in her mouth, or sometimes just rubbing her finger across the tiny lips as if to stimulate them.  The little one wasn’t that interested in any of this breakfast, and really seemed content to just look around at the other people.  And granny would take a neon orange cheesie chip and rub it along her lips until the kid finally consented to take an uninterested nibble.  It was like the grandma had some insatiable need to provide nourishment for the kid and she couldn’t keep her fingers away from the little girl's face and mouth.  Certainly it’s an understandable need and common among grandmas, but the fact that she was pushing junk food into a kid who didn’t even appear to want it, at breakfast time, is a bit twisted if you ask me.

I’m not being holier than thou.  I’m not above eating junk occasionally, or eating on the go.  In fact tonight I’m seeing an outdoor concert after work and I expect there is a “street meat” hot dog in my near future.  And my weekday breakfasts are always healthy, but most of them are consumed at my desk while I'm working.  And you can bet there's been more mindless munching in front of my television than I'd care to discuss.

But it all gets me thinking about the many and complex relationships people have with food, and the idea that often, eating is not even about food or sustenance.  I’m lucky – I appreciate good food, and do try to eat healthy, “clean” meals most of the time.  And I enjoy them.   But thinking about the transit eaters gives me a resolve to be more attentive about my meals and the way I approach them.  Like the transit eaters, I have many of my meals alone.  I have often celebrated the spiritual aspect of shared meals – maybe I’ve been dealt a reminder to make eating a mindful, celebratory practice when I’m alone too.

some beautiful things of a march morning

On the morning of the 20th day of posting found beauty:

  • Walking into my kitchen and seeing the big spray of tulips in the morning light.  One of the best "good for me" investments I made all week.
  • Morning light – another gorgeous sunshiny spring morning in which the sun reflects off everything with a gentle luminescence in eggshell and yellow tones and uplifts you the moment you walk out into it.
  • Blueberries and banana with milk for breakfast.  Luscious sweetness I don't usually go for first thing, but it's the current week's fixation.