Speaking of Squirt, the last time I was in Florida with Daisy, Squirt came to stay at our snazzy beach house with us. She had to sleep on the couch, of course, because one of the beautiful things about being single and self-indulgent is that when you go on vacation with a friend who is also single and self-indulgent, everyone gets their own room. No sharing of the bed, I don’t care how much I love you. (God, when my husband who does not wear skinny jeans comes along, and also my husband who is similarly-to-me aged comes along [same man], please bring us a king sized bed. I’m going to love him but I’m going to like him better when he’s all the way over there while I sleep. Amen.)
Anyway, Daisy and I went to Florida, now an annual trip in case you were wondering, and Squirt came to stay. Daisy and I took turns cooking breakfast. Since neither of us can abide an egg, and since Daisy is currently off carbs, our breakfast grocery shopping is a bit unconventional. Daisy’s offering came in the form of hot dogs and Atkins bars, always delicious. Mine came in the form of this:
I slaved away in kitchen and presented plates to both roomies. “Ta da,” I said, “breakfast is served!”
Squirt looked at me, fresh from her slumber on the sofa. “Wha? Why? That’s peas . . . “
“Yes!” I exclaimed. “With turkey bacon and cheese!”
Daisy said, “Is there butter?” Squirt said, “Is this even real meat?”
“NO! Peas are good on their own! Yes, I think so! Except it smells like plastic if you cook it for too long, so I don’t do that!” I was muy entusiasmado, usually a problem for those who are not also similarly morning people.
Tentatively, Squirt said, “Do you have any eggs, maybe?”
Which brings me to my rant. Why do eggs have to be breakfast food? Who determined that sausage should have an Italian version, a smoked version and also a breakfast version which is a complete non-descriptor? Why pancakes only in the morning? Why can’t we have pancakes for dinner and just call it pancakes for dinner? We always have to say “breakfast foods for dinner. I love breakfast foods for dinner!” No. This is wrong on many levels.
Firstly, eggs are gross. They taste like eggs, particularly when scrambled. I can abide a good deviled egg but it must be super salty and mustardy and I only eat the white parts if they are covered in yellow. I can abide a fried egg only when it’s over something like toast or potatoes which mask the flavor. I can abide a hard-boiled egg covered in ranch dressing or a very good Italian. First thing in the morning, though? Oh, my stomach. OH, HURK.
Secondly, why aren’t turkey sandwiches considered a breakfast food? Peas, also. Lately, I’ve even found myself enamored of a roasted beet or steamed Brussels sprout for breakfast. Full of fiber, pretty colors, throw some olive on there to clean out the arteries. What’s not great about starting your day that way?
I did some research to figure this out so that you don’t have to. I found this, about Edward Bernays, long considered the father of public relations:
“To get an idea of Bernays’ abilities, think for a moment about a traditional breakfast. What do you think of? If you are like most, you will come up with bacon and eggs — so what? Prior to 1915, bacon was not part of a traditional breakfast — so Edward Bernays was hired to increase bacon consumption in the United States. He incorporated a new theory of gaining assent from recognized leaders either with their knowing cooperation or without. He conducted a survey among physicians and received their overwhelming recommendation that Americans should eat a hearty breakfast. Coupled with predictive results from the physicians, he began an advertising campaign stressing that a breakfast of bacon and eggs was just that — a hearty breakfast. It may sound simple, but look where we are today because of it.” (Jack Monnett, PhD.)*
I guess I can blame Edward Bernays for eggs-for-breakfast tradition. And I guess this is only two levels of wrong but it’s my post.
For the record, Martie has lots to say about my breakfast selections. Mostly they involve phrases like, “No.” Also, “OMG, why???” Perhaps even a “You are gross, how are we sisters?” Then she sends pictures of her lobster grits, consumed at Blue Heaven in Key West and I ask the same question. Daisy felt similiarly, I think, despite her fondness for hotdogs at breakfast but I believe I changed her. On our last day of Florida vacation, Daisy fixed us breakfast. It was a giant bowl of peas, loaded with butter and salt, and it was delicious.
And that, my friends, is all I have to say about that.