I miss breakfast. I have always been a person who loves the meal. Growing up we rarely went out, but always had "breakfast" food: cereal (most weekdays), toaster waffles, real waffles, pancakes, coffeecake, oatmeal, cream of wheat. We would never slight the meal. It was "important." NEVER brunch.
Saturdays and Sundays were special breakfast days since we would always have eggs and bacon/pork roll (a New Jersey breakfast meat). Without fail, we would wake up with (mostly) my Dad (but sometimes my Mom) making eggs and the breakfast meat. It was special in the house. Sundays were extra special. After church we made two stops. First, to the tobacco shop, where we would buy the Sunday paper (New York News, Asbury Park Press) and we kids would be allowed one candy bar, which we would consume after breakfast. The second stop was the bakery where we would get rolls. Saturdays we relied on toast, but Sundays we would have the rolls. I loved the bread warm, so I would be in charge of coming home, turning on the oven and putting the paper bag with the rolls in the oven to make them warm. Served with melting butter. Even weekdays, we sometimes had special meals. Pancakes and, my absolute favorite, waffles.
My parents were of the school that whatever was made for a meal was what you ate, to the point of yelling or corporal punishment if you would not/could not. I say "could not" because there were times things would make me nauseated. To this day, split pea soup does not sit well, but at 5 to 10 years old, it would absolutely make me literally gag at the table. This would send my parents, especially my father, into a fit of rage. I honestly don't know how I got the soup down. (Years later, I asked my mother off handedly if she could make herself gag on command. When she answered that no, she could not, and that it would be impossible, I asked her then why she thought I could. No answer to that one.) Eggs can sometimes fall into this category for me. So it was particularly odd in retrospect that my parents would allow me to skip the eggs at the weekend breakfasts and get extra breakfast meat.
So, I digress. Here in Paris, breakfast just doesn't exist, except for tourists. I think it is because lunch and dinner are almost identical and are big meals, it makes sense to cut calories where you can. Taking out the third meal does make some sense. It is true that the bread and also the croissants (known here as viennoiserie because it was brought here by Marie Antoinette when she came here from Vienna, Austria) are delicious and are eaten in the morning when you feel hungry. That is a big difference than a meal. Even the name here. Dinner is dîner; lunch is déjeuner. Breakfast is petite déjeuner, or little lunch. It doesn't even has its own name.
I feel cheated. I am headed back to the US this week and will certainly spend some time having diner breakfasts.
Saturdays and Sundays were special breakfast days since we would always have eggs and bacon/pork roll (a New Jersey breakfast meat). Without fail, we would wake up with (mostly) my Dad (but sometimes my Mom) making eggs and the breakfast meat. It was special in the house. Sundays were extra special. After church we made two stops. First, to the tobacco shop, where we would buy the Sunday paper (New York News, Asbury Park Press) and we kids would be allowed one candy bar, which we would consume after breakfast. The second stop was the bakery where we would get rolls. Saturdays we relied on toast, but Sundays we would have the rolls. I loved the bread warm, so I would be in charge of coming home, turning on the oven and putting the paper bag with the rolls in the oven to make them warm. Served with melting butter. Even weekdays, we sometimes had special meals. Pancakes and, my absolute favorite, waffles.
My parents were of the school that whatever was made for a meal was what you ate, to the point of yelling or corporal punishment if you would not/could not. I say "could not" because there were times things would make me nauseated. To this day, split pea soup does not sit well, but at 5 to 10 years old, it would absolutely make me literally gag at the table. This would send my parents, especially my father, into a fit of rage. I honestly don't know how I got the soup down. (Years later, I asked my mother off handedly if she could make herself gag on command. When she answered that no, she could not, and that it would be impossible, I asked her then why she thought I could. No answer to that one.) Eggs can sometimes fall into this category for me. So it was particularly odd in retrospect that my parents would allow me to skip the eggs at the weekend breakfasts and get extra breakfast meat.
So, I digress. Here in Paris, breakfast just doesn't exist, except for tourists. I think it is because lunch and dinner are almost identical and are big meals, it makes sense to cut calories where you can. Taking out the third meal does make some sense. It is true that the bread and also the croissants (known here as viennoiserie because it was brought here by Marie Antoinette when she came here from Vienna, Austria) are delicious and are eaten in the morning when you feel hungry. That is a big difference than a meal. Even the name here. Dinner is dîner; lunch is déjeuner. Breakfast is petite déjeuner, or little lunch. It doesn't even has its own name.
I feel cheated. I am headed back to the US this week and will certainly spend some time having diner breakfasts.
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