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1 Comment

  • Thierry
    Posted September 7, 2022 at 10:09 pm

      Breakfast for a Champion (Prompt)

    Meals were not a celebration growing up. Rare moments in time brought me peace to the table.
    Being an early riser from a young age. I vividly remember moments sitting alone, eating in silence, before others would impose their noise. These quiet time capsules on my own brought me confidence and satisfaction.
    Spending summers in the country and seaside at our summer, two-hundred-year-old crumbling farmhouse. I would slip out of bed in the fresh morning air as the sun popped up to greet me from behind the majestic Atlantic Ocean. Surroundings were welcoming as I walked through high grasses into fields of wild tasty blueberries. Bowl in hand, mostly large recipients. I made it a religion not to eat a single berry until they reached the edges of the porcelain. What a delight feasting on handfuls of the precious blue and purple gift from nature. A habit I respected for summers on end.

    Rice puff cereals, no sugar added, became a trend at some point in the sixties, packaged in huge, sealed plastic bags. They weren’t so tasty, and the only cereal allowed in the house as they were the cheapest. Inside was hidden a big, heavy porcelain mug with different dog faces hand painted on one side of the handle. When the first bag was bought, it was a fight between me and my two brothers at the time, to get to the mug first and keep it as our own. This resulted in a small crisis as rules were instated for future openings. We did get to keep the first mug with a German Shepard staring us in the eye. Eating more cereal than necessary, meant opening another bag sooner. Tension rose since we were not allowed to shuffle the cereal to get to a second or third cup. It could take a week to discover a new breed of canine. All in all, we accumulated 8 cups during the summer. That was the last of the experience as it was not repeated in subsequent school holidays.

    My mother who didn’t care much for cooking, brought from her native France a recipe for French pancakes at they did them in Brittany. Once every 3 or 4 or added months, at her liking, Annick my mom would serve her breakfast buckwheat thin and large pancakes with a little dash of butter melting on top, sprinkled over by a teaspoon of white sugar. The only time there was more than enough of a meal for everyone to enjoy in multiple servings.

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