Rubbish, piffle, tommyrot, drivel and utter bilge

Saturday, February 27, 2010

Brekky, Jeffy-style

I know full well that I spent entirely too much time in Georgia. The reason I know this is because I went to the pantry the other morning, looking for something to eat. Cereal... nope. Toast... meh. OK - try the fridge. Bacon... pfff. Eggs... yeah, but not today. What do I really want? I pondered. Listen to your gut (or heart, if you prefer). What am I craving?

Buttermilk biscuits and sausage gravy.

Normally, in Georgia, this would not have been too tricky. There's usually biscuits somewhere nearby. In the fridge. At the grocery store. Maybe even in one of the cabinets - just add milk and bake. But now I'm in  England, where the word 'biscuit' means cookie (and, perversely, so does cookie), and you are likely to be given an odd look if you tell someone you want your biscuits smothered in gravy.

Well, long story short, I had to settle, because I didn't feel like making biscuit dough first thing in the morning, I hadn't had my coffee yet and things were not right enough with the world to be able to put forth that kind of effort that early in the day. Besides which, it was grey, miserable, rainy and blah. Coffee comes first. Then... cereal. I resolved that evening to look up a good biscuit recipe and maybe make it on the weekend when I had time and could do it really well and knock everyone's socks off with my mastery of Southern Cuisine. I'll do it soon and tell you how it turns out.

If there's one thing I cannot live without it is breakfast. To me, a day that doesn't begin with breakfast is not a proper day at all. Even if I don't wake up till 11am, I want breakfast, not lunch. Nothing worse than starting your day with a burger. Ugh.

There is nothing to match the visceral pleasure one can achieve from cooking and eating a fried breakfast. The great English Fry-Up. The Full English, as it  is known. Whenever my sister and I stayed over at my Grandmother Kath's house, Nanny Kath (as we referred to her) would cook this humongous breakfast for us. We would come downstairs, and there'd be boxes of cereal on the table, milk, bowls etc. and copious amounts of tea. While we were eating a bowl of Corn Flakes, she'd be in the kitchen cooking and would come out and place in front of us this plate literally straining under the weight of the food on it. Toast, eggs, bacon, maybe a sausage or two, grilled tomatoes, mushrooms, maybe some baked beans and sauteed potatoes. The rest of the morning would be spent in a stupor, just trying to digest this outsized meal. You ever had that feeling? "I wish I hadn't eaten all that, but it was sooooo good!" Ah, memories.

Myself, I love to cook breakfasts. Nothing says Good Morning to me more than a hearty breakfast washed down with mugs of tea or coffee. The sizzle of the bacon and sausage. The beautiful aroma wafting up the stairs, rousing one from slumber. Some kind person bringing you a mug of Joe in bed. The friendly sting of a glass of ruby red grapefruit juice. This morning I found some leftover potatoes in the fridge, so I cooked a few and added them to eggs on toast. A couple of cups of coffee later, I had the energy to write this. Now, I think it's naptime... or perhaps time for coffee #3.

1 comment:

  1. Yum. That's what I'm talking about. I'll eat my cheerios and yogurt because I am trying to downsize the real estate that is my ass. But I'll be dreaming of that Full English with each bland bite.


Complaints, comments, questions, concerns, missing or broken links, etc?

Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...