she craves

Breakfast for Lunch

Try as I might, I am not a morning person. I am known to abuse the alarm, both verbally and physically. My brain doesn't quite work so making a decision such as which fiber-loaded rational cereal should I have for breakfast is on par with should I choose the blue pill or the red one? For the first few minutes of being awake, the coffeemaker is my only friend in the world.

Still, I am a fan of large breakfasts. Starch. Protein. More starch. Cups of coffee. Hard to achieve when you've got a late start and loads of work to do. Even harder when you've procrastinated in your workout clothes, determined (half-assed) to do the next series of weight training and plyometrics.

Solution: Breakfast for lunch.

Breakfast of Champions with a Friend

On the menu: Lemon-Ricotta pancakes * Tomato-Bacon Hash * Chicken-Apple Sausages * Fruit Salad

Nine a.m. Okay, maybe 10. We've established that I'm not a morning person. A groggy Sunday morning and the luxury of lingering in bed. It lasts as long as a rumble in the belly. Hunger sets in and comes the proverbial Sunday morning question: what to eat for brunch? It nags me once a week like clockwork. And it nags my friends, too. We're champion brunch-goers. We've been to pretty much every venue in town that offers scrambled eggs of various quality, stacks of pancakes gluey or perfect, and coffee weak as dishwater or thick as mud. Our options were close to up and the idea of waiting in a crowded front room and fighting for a bitchy waiters' attention wasn't as good as staying in bed. In fact, "staying in" sounded perfect.

But what would I eat? That would be up to me, the kitchen, and my friend, Amber.

One Toaster. One Burner. Just One Breakfast.

If you've read a few posts, it's pretty obvious that I live with roommates. Roommates who aren't the best at cleaning. And I don't mean to imply that it's the only trait necessary to join the "great human being" club. But it helps when all you want is a proper breakfast before leaving for work. It's a little disheartening to wake up to a leaning tower of dishes, counters crowded with pizza boxes, groceries yet to be put away, and stray beer bottles. Cooking in something like this is like trying to juice a cold lime. I yield very little.