No treadmill or stretch scheduled today. No appointments. One email invitation for late afternoon that I will tacitly decline by not responding. And a small outing yesterday, a disappointing one at that, and two much more desirable places to be tomorrow. No reason to get dressed today. But these relatively infrequent blank days generally go better if I grant myself some kind of treat, either a reward for notable attainment later in the day or out for breakfast as a small reward for being fundamentally a decent person when my electronic news feeds show a deficit of honorable people. So last night, I resolved to go out for breakfast today, even if it meant getting up at my usual time, grooming first thing in the morning and putting on the clothing I wore to my outing yesterday. I even decided where. When the clock radio flashed its red numerals, I dutifully got up, made coffee, outlined my day, washed as many milchig cups as I could fit onto the drying rack, then recycled yesterday's clothing. I drove to my destination, finding it too islolated, so quickly selected a backup, where I spent a little more generously on an enhanced omelet and a slightly larger tip than I needed to offer.
Breakfast has an interesting personal history, an offshoot of my autobiography. Not living in a cave, not being a hunter-gatherer with meal uncertainty, I am well aware of the expert consensus on the importance of breakfast. It takes minutes to heat a pan and fry two eggs, a little longer to poach them. Sometimes I have packaged hash browns in the freezer or frozen kosher vegetarian sausage links that take minutes to make. And not that much cleanup either. For all the Aunt Jemima controversies, I always admired her picture on the box. She portrayed concern for the people she fed, racial stereotypes aside. And now with Pearl Milling on the box instead, the prouct has become even easier to use. Just mix in a 4:3 ratio with water in a coffee mug, maybe a half cup mix, stir a bit and pour into a hot oiled pan. Flip once when bubbled, then transfer to a plate. Pour some syrup, for which I have maple and few others at hand. Then eat in minutes while drinking coffee. Easy nutrition. And when I go to the supermarket each week, some cereal is always on sale. I get a box or two. Yet it serves as a between meal snack. I've not poured it into a bowl with milk in decades. And instant oatmeal available in a variety of flavors goes on sale, can be made in minutes in a coffee mug, and eaten just as quickly. Not bought toaster waffles in ages. I have farina and wheatina and packages of real oatmeal and grits. These are more tedious to make, so I rarely do, though have better sensory outcomes than the instant varieties. And either bagels or English muffins usually occupy my refrigerator shelves, along with stuff to coat their bite surfaces. No excuses, really, for not stacking my caloric needs earlier in the day, but I rarely do. Instead, my fondness is for the antagonism of the adenosine receptors by coffee, most often my own as a k-cup into a porcelain mug. Two cups worth while I sit at my screen. Coffee in a mug is portable upstairs each morning. In my commuting years, coffee was portable in a car, either in a paper cup from WaWa designed for the car or in one of many logo insulated mugs given to me by organizations in anticipation of or appreciation for some of my money. And my fondness for varietal coffee tastes goes back to the 1970's when The Coffee Connection on Harvard Square or Peet's nearby offered experiences new to me. Modern commerce and astute observers like Starbucks, K-cup manufacturers, and WaWa's knew that a lot of other people would pay a little extra to have their morning perk-up enhanced by the need to select from among taste options. So, despite the relative eas of a caloric breakfast, my mind and later daily agenda prioritized wakefulness. At least at home.
Having somebody else make breakfast is a whole other matter. After a grueling night of weekend On Call during my medical residency, my first destination after signing out would invariably be Bickford's Pancake House. All types of pancakes, multiple syrups. I would never go there any other time. And a pot of coffee to wash down those perfect pancakes, rarely duplicated since. When I travel, breakfast always starts the day, whether at hotel, whether for professional or leisure travel. Breakfast buffets ranging from packaged everything at chain motels to serious elegance at Caribbean resorts, Israeli hotels known for their arrays, or over the top cruise ship offerings each get a due measure of my time, and if more than cursory, a level of indulgence that carries me forward. When not provided by my hotel, I seek out a pancake place mostly, though I will choose from the larger menu. No skimping here. Omelet, hash browns, toast, coffee. Always a big input of calories, as I will mostly not eat again until supper except for a cruise ship's day at sea when meals begin on arise and go continuously until bed time, interrupted by some aquatics. So when I have breakfast I generally do it lavishly.
Going out for breakfast has its home version. While studying for my periodic professional exams, I would take my review book to one of several restaurants, bone up a bit on what I might be asked, while ordering either eggs or pancakes. Once exams are over, I would often go out for breakfast on my days off, and when on weekend call, I would invariably break for a massive breakfast buffet across the street from the medical center where most of my effort would take place. Occasionally the hospital cafeteria would have to suffice, though rarely for breakfast. Over a number of years I accumulated my favorites. Hollywood Grill a five minute drive was the default. Coffee Station was nearest. New places open, always tried out, others close. Once retired, these outings drifted down to one or two a month. And they started to include a few samplings that registered in my mind as no more repeat visits. But those two a month or so became my most reliable breakfasts, and invariably my largest.
While I seek out breakfasts in public settings, whether my personal outings locally or as part of a travel experience, these meals rarely have a social component, though perhaps they should. I am cordial to the waitress and tip adequately, but prefer the buffet to the menu and waitress. For a while, my roughly weekly breakfasts at the Hollywood Grill seated me at a counter. I recognized the waitress, her pleasant manner part of making this my preferred destination, and I came to recognize the many regulars who came each week. I evesdropped on their banter with each other and with the waitress but never got invited into the conversation itself. I effectively ate alone amid a crowd. I could say this about most breakfast experiences, travel with my wife and me as a pair, breakfast locally or professional travel solo, irrespective of how crowded the buffet or commonality of purpose as at a professional annual meeting. The exception, and not a very big exception, might be formal tours where the group assembles for the day's itinerary, but even there I usually seek out my own table, filling my plate with what I find most inviting, then letting my mind wander by itself. On cruises, I am dining alone with my thoughts and plans, even with hundreds of others filling the tables and sampling the food at the buffet, which I invariably prefer to breakfast in the formal dining room. There I sit with whomever the dining staff seats at my table, exchange pleasantries or maybe a comment on the ship's destinations. But my breakfast table is not a place where thoughts, insights, or experiences transfer between people. It is a place to sit quietly, think to myself, admire what the kitchen staff was able to assemble, and recover from the day past or anticipate the day ahead. For as many people as may be present, breakfast from a simple bagel with homemade gravlax at home to the elegant repast of a classic Israeli hotel buffet, remains fundamentally Me Time. A few minutes to make food choices perhaps but also time in a virtual cubicle that lacks separation walls.
Might I do this better, or if not better, then differently? I could take better advantage of what I already have at home. When I go to the supermarket, I rarely target what I will have for breakfast, other than making sure I have enough eggs and perhaps deciding when I should make another pound of gravlax, which takes a few days. Part of the barrier seems to be my treadmill schedule. To do this without fail, I set a fixed time of 8:15, before calories other than coffee. And this has been so successful, as it gets what I am most likely to make excuses to not do out of the way first, that I will not change the schedule. But every third day there is no treadmill to walk. I could target those for breakfast, two at home, followed by one away. And after treadmill, I could eat something that takes little time or effort.
When I am out, can I take better advantage of the environment. I prefer the open counter to a table, but even there, only the Hollywood Grill, now defunct, had an vibrant counter experience. As I get to the other places a short drive from my home, the food really isn't that much better than what I can assemble myself. The Country Buffet has become defunct, and I have little reason to be in that vicinity other than as a periodic platelet donor. When I don't eat breakfast with any substance, I still have a measure of Me Time in front of my screen, checking messages, contributing my thoughts to recipients known and unknown in cyberspace. So even if I could make breakfast more of a social experience, it would be infrequent, though more spontaneous in its interaction. And professional travel is no more, recreational travel infrequent, and the buffets at places where I stay mostly cursory. So my best upgrade would still be at home. Perhaps starting with a real breakfast, the kind a dietician might recommend on the treadmill days off supplemented by two served breakfasts a month locally. Small upgrades, both to my nutrition and my psyche.
