Breakfast in my home is often a fend-for-yourself meal. We keep bagels in the fridge, mostly for my husband, and the pantry is stocked with at least four different kinds of cereals and an assortment of granola bars. Hard-boiled eggs have made an appearance for the past couple of weeks, serving their purpose as a side dish to a bowl of cereal, and more importantly, a quick infusion of protein before school.
With these breakfast foods to choose from, and from start to finish, the morning meal – that most important meal of the day, as they say – is over in about ten minutes. A hurried breakfast is great for efficiency on a school day, but come the weekend, rushing through breakfast leaves me feeling dissatisfied and incomplete.
Breakfast was my father’s specialty. On most weekdays, like my kids often will, my brother and I ate cereal with milk. Occasionally, we had oatmeal, and I have fond memories of a Cream of Wheat phase. But on more than the occasional weekend, Dad would decide that it was time for a full, hot breakfast. Those mornings were special.