Sunday Breakfast Sunday

pancakes-1

3 days out and I’m still thinking of chemotherapy and cancer. I gotta get a hobby.

So far, the worst side effect is the metallic taste in my mouth. I think it is causing me to have really strange dreams in which I am wrapped up in a James Bond-esque series of events but all I want to do is throw up. At least, that’s how it was for me last night.

(“Bond! You must track down the Russian and get the formula!” “Gag.”)

I spent part of last night giving serious thought to food. Specifically, how to get this taste out of my mouth. And, it just happens to be time for Sunday breakfast – a weekend tradition that I am not ready to give up on.

I assume that everyone who reads this blog takes breakfast as seriously as we do. I know some of you have your favorite deli’s on 3rd Street, certain recipes you follow on the weekends accompanied by favorite songs or just a love of all things omelette and waffle.

Growing up in Philadelphia, breakfast for me began with the 3 egg, hashbrown and toast combination at the local diner. The subtleties of hashbrowns vs. home fries, pre-buttered toast, medium well vs. over easy eggs and whether the cheese goes inside the omelette or on top in slices are all important factors that stick with me today.

But after being in California for 10+ years, my tastes have refined and I understand breakfast can (and should) be more than fast coffee and a sprig of parsley on the side. The pumpkin pancake. The greek omelette. Chilaquiles. The veggie chorizo scramble. The wide tableau of available breakfast options in Los Angeles turns the decision of where to eat in the morning into a week-defining decision.

This morning, I take on a new challenge – making pancakes from scratch. It is the least I can do to pay homage to the Sunday morning breakfast gods after they’ve given me so much in the past few years.

(That would be the God of Yolk, God of Butter, God of Jam and God of Coffee)

And I leave a challenge for you – comment with a breakfast story, a recipe, a tip on where to eat. What turns you on at breakfast. How you make your eggs. Why you think French Press coffee is overrated.

With a final shout-out to my pops – all this talk of fancy California breakfasts doesn’t change the fact that the best breakfast of all is always spent with family at any diner in Philadelphia. Even the time I tried to order sourdough bread and he asked me if I thought I was in frickin’ San Francisco.

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