Delicious Breakfast Quotes

Lucky Charms are like the vampires of breakfast cereal. They're magical, they're delicious, they're a little bit dangerous and bad for you. They initially make you feel great, but then over time you realize that maybe your relationship with Lucky Charms is just a little bit unhealthy and you start to think, 'Maybe I don't want to be in a long-term relationship with a breakfast cereal that tastes delicious but damages my health.' But then the Lucky Charms gets all stalker on you and for some reason you kind of like that. It makes you feel special. So yeah, you spend your life with Lucky Charms. That's awesome. That's a great way to... get diabetes.

This is Just to Say I have eaten the plums that were in the icebox and which you were probably saving for breakfast Forgive me they were delicious so sweet and so cold

Oh, adorable, delicious Amelie. If I weren't so completely straight and enamored with cock, I would devour this sweet little tart.

From Jess: FANG. I've commented your blog with my questions for THREE YEARS. You answer other people's STUPID questions but not MINE. YOU REALLY ASKED FOR IT, BUDDY. I'm just gonna comment with this until you answer at least one of my questions. DO YOU HAVE A JAMAICAN ACCENT? No, Mon DO YOU MOLT? Gross. WHAT'S YOUR STAR SIGN? Dont know. "Angel what's my star sign?" She says Scorpio. HAVE YOU TOLD JEB I LOVE HIM YET? No. DOES NOT HAVING A POWER MAKE YOU ANGRY? Well, that's not really true... DO YOU KNOW HOW TO DO THE SOULJA BOY? Can you see me doing the Soulja Boy? DOES IGGY KNOW HOW TO DO THE SOULJA BOY? Gazzy does. DO YOU USE HAIR PRODUCTS? No. Again,no. DO YOU USE PRODUCTS ON YOUR FEATHERS? I don't know that they make bird kid feather products yet. WHAT'S YOU FAVORITE MOVIE? There are a bunch WHAT'S YOUR FAVORITE SONG? I don't have favorites. They're too polarizing. WHAT'S YOUR FAVORITE SMELL? Max, when she showers. DO THESE QUESTIONS MAKE YOU ANGRY? Not really. IF I CAME UP TO YOU IN A STREET AND HUGGED YOU, WOULD YOU KILL ME? You might get kicked. But I'm used to people wanting me dead, so. DO YOU SECRETLY WANT TO BE HUGGED? Doesn't everybody? ARE YOU GOING EMO 'CAUSE ANGEL IS STEALING EVERYONE'S POWERS (INCLUDING YOURS)? Not the emo thing again. WHAT'S YOUR FAVORITE FOOD? Anything hot and delicious and brought to me by Iggy. WHAT DID YOU HAVE FOR BREAKFAST THIS MORNING? Three eggs, over easy. Bacon. More Bacon. Toast. DID YOU EVEN HAVE BREAKFAST THIS MORNING? See above. DID YOU DIE INSIDE WHEN MAX CHOSE ARI OVER YOU? Dudes don't die inside. DO YOU LIKE MAX? Duh. DO YOU LIKE ME? I think you're funny. DOES IGGY LIKE ME? Sure DO YOU WRITE DEPRESSING POETRY? No. IS IT ABOUT MAX? Ahh. No. IS IT ABOUT ARI? Why do you assume I write depressing poetry? IS IT ABOUT JEB? Ahh. ARE YOU GOING TO BLOCK THIS COMMENT? Clearly, no. WHAT ARE YOU WEARING? A Dirty Projectors T-shirt. Jeans. DO YOU WEAR BOXERS OR BRIEFS? No freaking comment. DO YOU FIND THIS COMMENT PERSONAL? Could I not find that comment personal? DO YOU WEAR SUNGLASSES? Yes, cheap ones. DO YOU WEAR YOUR SUNGLASSES AT NIGHT? That would make it hard to see. DO YOU SMOKE APPLES, LIKE US? Huh? DO YOU PREFER BLONDES OR BRUNETTES? Whatever. DO YOU LIKE VAMPIRES OR WEREWOLVES? Fanged creatures rock. ARE YOU GAY AND JUST PRETENDING TO BE STRAIGHT BY KISSING LISSA? Uhh... WERE YOU EXPERIMENING WITH YOUR SEXUALITY? Uhh... WOULD YOU TELL US IF YOU WERE GAY? Yes. DO YOU SECRETLY LIKE IT WHEN PEOPLE CALL YOU EMO? No. ARE YOU EMO? Whatever. DO YOU LIKE EGGS? Yes. I had them for breakfast. DO YOU LIKE EATING THINGS? I love eating. I list it as a hobby. DO YOU SECRETLY THINK YOU'RE THE SEXIEST PERSON IN THE WHOLE WORLD? Do you secretly think I'm the sexiest person in the whole world? DO YOU EVER HAVE DIRTY THOUGHTS ABOUT MAX? Eeek! HAS ENGEL EVER READ YOUR MIND WHEN YOU WERE HAVING DIRTY THOUGHT ABOUT MAX AND GONE "OMG" AND YOU WERE LIKE "D:"? hahahahahahahahahahah DO YOU LIKE SPONGEBOB? He's okay, I guess. DO YOU EVER HAVE DIRTY THOUGHT ABOUT SPONGEBOB? Definitely CAN YOU COOK? Iggy cooks. DO YOU LIKE TO COOK? I like to eat. ARE YOU, LIKE, A HOUSEWIFE? How on earth could I be like a housewife? DO YOU SECRETLY HAVE INNER TURMOIL? Isn't it obvious? DO YOU WANT TO BE UNDA DA SEA? I'm unda da stars. DO YOU THINK IT'S NOT TOO LATE, IT'S NEVER TOO LATE? Sure. WHERE DID YOU LEARN TO PLAY POKER? TV. DO YOU HAVE A GOOD POKER FACE? Totally. OF COURSE YOU HAVE A GOOD POKER FACE. DOES IGGY HAVE A GOOD POKER FACE? Yes. CAN HE EVEN PLAY POKER? Iggy beats me sometimes. DO YOU LIKE POKING PEOPLE HARD? Not really. ARE YOU FANGALICIOUS? I could never be as fangalicious as you'd want me to be. Fly on, Fang

Best Recipes from Eastern Europe” is not only a guide about how to cook, but also about how to decorate dishes in beautiful and unique ways. Let’s make our breakfasts or dinners look classy, lovely, unusual or funny; it will add bright feelings of joy and amazement to our being. Big happiness consists of small pleasant things—like these!

After Elsa’s death, Einstein established a routine that as the years passed varied less and less. Breakfast between 9 and 10 was followed by a walk to the institute. After working until 1pm he would return home for lunch and a nap. Afterwards he would work in his study until dinner between 6.30 and 7pm. If not entertaining guests, he would return to work until he went to bed between 11 and 12. He rarely went to the theatre or to a concert, and unlike Bohr, hardly ever watched a movie. He was, Einstein said in 1936, ‘living in the kind of solitude that is painful in one’s youth but in one’s more mature years is delicious’.

I let the food speak for itself and the food always wins...

The world seemed filled with interesting books to read, interesting plays and movies to see, interesting games to play, interesting food to taste, and interesting people to have sex with and sometimes even to fall in love with. To Marx, it seemed foolish not to love as many things as you could. In the first months she knew him, Sadie disparaged Marx to Sam by calling him “the romantic dilettante.” But for Marx, the world was like a breakfast at a five-star hotel in an Asian country—the abundance of it was almost overwhelming. Who wouldn’t want a pineapple smoothie, a roast pork bun, an omelet, pickled vegetables, sushi, and a green-tea-flavored croissant? They were all there for the taking and delicious, in their own way.

I enjoy having breakfast in bed. I like waking up to the smell of bacon, sue me. And since I don’t have a butler, I have to do it myself. So, most nights before I go to bed, I will lay six strips of bacon out on my George Foreman grill. Then I go to sleep. When I wake up, I plug in the grill. I go back to sleep again. Then I wake up to the smell of crackling bacon. It is delicious, it’s good for me, it’s the perfect way to start the day.

Mary was like a caged tiger in the first days of her captivity. Keen, alert, and watchful, she listened tensely each dawn for the key that unlocked her door. After breakfast she watched the road for messengers, pacing back and forth like a confined feline. But no messengers ever came. Elizabeth had abandoned her. Or forgotten her. And the days passed. Little by little, the Queen of Scots grew accustomed to her captivity. She no longer heard the key in the lock, or the footsteps outside her door. More often than not it was the maid's cheerful voice that woke her, along with the hand on Mary's shoulder and the delicious smells wafting from the breakfast tray.

I hope at the same time to procure you amusement and glory, gentlemen,” said Athos. “I have induced you to take a charming promenade; here is a delicious breakfast; and yonder are five hundred persons, as you may see through the loopholes, taking us for heroes or madmen⁠—two classes of imbeciles greatly resembling each other.

I don’t think I deserve him.” Audrey shrugged. “Probably not. But he doesn’t deserve you, either. Maybe that’s why you’re perfect for each other.” “Do you think it could last?” “Who cares?” “I care.” Audrey sucked up her drink and tossed the empty cup onto the ground. There was no way we were going to be able to hide the fact that we’d had a party from Mom. Fuck it. “You like bacon, right?” Audrey asked. “Duh.” “So, when you’re offered bacon for breakfast, do you refuse because you’re worried about what’s going to happen when it’s gone?” “No.” “No!” Audrey smacked me in the chest. “You eat that bacon and you love it because it’s delicious. You don’t fret over whether you’ll ever have bacon again. You just eat the bacon.” Audrey stood in front of me and held my face between her hands. Her expression was so solemn that it was difficult not to laugh. “Eat the bacon, Henry.

Francis Bacon has the most delicious last name ever, followed closely by Johnny Scrambledeggs. I golf like those two guys make breakfast out of family reunions.

Because as delicious as my dinners are, they pale in comparison to my breakfasts.

When I grow up,” I said, “I’m gonna open an all day breakfast buffet called Scrambled Eggs and Hashtags. It’s gonna be delicious!

I like knowing that you’d poison my breakfast if I ever get out of hand.

thank you,” Lion replied as he stood up. “The breakfast was delicious, but I must be away. I wouldn’t want to keep my bride-to-be waiting!” Hannah beamed at his words, but Elisha was all too aware of the

The maple brings tourists who come to marvel at the blazing colours of the autumn leaves and it brings cash dollars in the form of the unctuous, faintly metallic syrup that Americans like to pour all over their breakfast, on waffles and pancakes certainly, but on bacon too. Sounds alarming to English ears, but actually it is rather delicious. Like crack, crystal meth, and Chocolate HobNobs, one nibble and you're hooked for life.

At home in Moscow everything was in its winter routine; the stoves were heated, and in the morning it was still dark when the children were having breakfast and getting ready for school, and the nurse would light the lamp for a short time. The frosts had begun already. When the first snow has fallen, on the first day of sledge-driving it is pleasant to see the white earth, the white roofs, to draw soft, delicious breath, and the season brings back the days of one's youth. The old limes and birches, white with hoar-frost, have a good-natured expression; they are nearer to one's heart than cypresses and palms, and near them one doesn't want to be thinking of the sea and the mountains.

We are taught in this culture that if we can grasp enough pleasurable experiences quickly, one after another, our life will be happy. By following a good game of tennis with a delicious dinner, a fine movie, then wonderful sex and sleep, a good morning jog, a fine hour of meditation, an excellent breakfast, and off to an exciting morning of work, over and over, our happiness will last. Our driven society is masterful at perpetuating this ruse. But will this satisfy the heart?

most delicious of his dishes ‒ a simple breakfast of his homemade bread, toasted, drizzled with thick, dark olive oil and spread generously with the pulp of the freshest tomatoes he could source. They had all converted from scrambled eggs and bacon sandwiches

unctuous, faintly metallic syrup that Americans like to pour all over their breakfast, on waffles and pancakes certainly, but on bacon too. Sounds alarming to English ears, but actually it is rather delicious. Like crack, crystal meth and Chocolate HobNobs, one nibble and you’re hooked for life.

The Count then proceeded to explain the importance of our mission to bring delicious chocolaty breakfast cereal to the children of the world, and how much Franken Berry cereal sucked by comparison. While talking, the Count picked a booger from his nose, tried to flick it away, then smeared it on his jacket lapel.

Masters: Situation appears dire. Look around. Do you see any adults? Me: My ball size indicates I’m the adultest thing here. Me: I haven’t been rejected this hard since I tried to block the punt in that game against OSU last semester. Masters: My wife says rejection is good for you. Makes you mentally tough. Me: You love saying that phrase “my wife.” Masters: You bet your fat ass I do. Me: You don’t think it’s completely strange that you’re 21 and acting like a Taylor Swift song? Masters: Bro, sorry you feel left out. Stop by later and I’ll give you a hug. Me: Fuck off. Masters: I have MY WIFE to do that for me. Thanks, though. Hug still stands. I’ll even let you smell me. MY WIFE says I smell delicious. Me: I’ve smelled you before, which is why I’m not sure how you convinced Ellie to marry you. She must have defective olfactory senses. Masters: Me and MY defective WIFE will be getting it on tonight. While u have only Rosie Palm. Me: Don’t worry. I get plenty of variety. Left-hand Laura sometimes steps in. Masters: Heard you were out with Josie Weeks. Be careful. She eats little linebackers like you for breakfast. And the fact that I don’t even want to make a sexually charged comeback tells me exactly how I feel about Josie. Hope she doesn’t mind being just study partners.

Ungh,” Ryan said. “That shit is so hot.” Everyone turned to stare at him. He was bright red. “I said that out loud, didn’t I? Dammit.” “What?” I squeaked. “When you do magic, it turns me on,” Ryan said, shaking his head frantically. “Ah gods. I can’t—stop. Just stop. Ahhh, I get erections when you cast spells. Oh shit.” “Sweet molasses,” I managed to say. “This… this is not what I thought was going to happen today,” Gary said. “What you think happen?” Tiggy asked. “I thought Ryan and Sam would continue to ignore how much they want to bone each other and we would all be suffering in silence because Sam won’t pull his head out of his ass to see that Ryan wants to eat said ass for dinner.” “I do,” Ryan said through gritted teeth. “For breakfast, even. And lunch. And a midnight snack. Especially when you do magic.” “You have a magic kink?” I said, because that was the only thing I could focus on. “Yes. But only for you. Your magic gets me hard,” he said, looking like he wished he could be anywhere but where he was. “When you do anything, I get hard, really. Even your ridiculous sex puns. You remember when you wrapped those Dark wizards in stone at the restaurant?” “Yeah,” I managed to say. “I wanted to tell you that you gave me an e-rock-tion.” He bent over and banged his forehead against the table. “Why, why, why did I say that out loud? Please. Someone. Anyone. Kill me.” “Sex puns,” I breathed. “Knight Delicious Face said a sex pun.” “There it is again!” he exclaimed. “Knight Delicious Face. What is that?” “You’re a knight,” I said. “And your face is delicious.” “You think I’m delicious?” he said, suddenly shy. “Oh my gods,” Gary moaned. “This is so awkward I can’t even stand it. I physically hurt from how awkward this is. I don’t even care that we’re apparently in mortal danger. I just don’t want to listen to you two flirt anymore. Eloise? Yoo-hoo, Eloise? If you’re going to kill us, can you please do it now? I can’t take this anymore.

But for Marx, the world was like a breakfast at a five-star hotel in an Asian country—the abundance of it was almost overwhelming. Who wouldn’t want a pineapple smoothie, a roast pork bun, an omelet, pickled vegetables, sushi, and a green-tea-flavored croissant? They were all there for the taking and delicious, in their own way.

But for Marx, the world was like a breakfast at a five-star hotel in an Asian country — the abundance of it was almost overwhelming. Who wouldn’t want a pineapple smoothie, a roast pork bun, an omelet, pickled vegetables, sushi, and a green-tea-flavored croissant? They were all there for the taking and delicious, in their own way.

EGGS BENEDICT It is made up of a poached egg, cheese, bacon and other ingredients on top of a muffin and seasoned with tangy hollandaise. It is one of the more traditional breakfast dishes served in North America. However, Eggs Benedict alone can hardly be called an original dish. Where's the surprise? Still, faced with such beauty... ... I can't help but want to take a bite. AAAH! A perfectly poached egg so soft it melts on the tongue. The refined tang of high-quality hollandaise sauce. Crispy, salty bacon and a sweet, soft muffin! All of these together wrap the tongue in an exquisite harmony of deliciousness! Wait, no. That isn't all. There is a greater depth to the flavor than that. But from what? Hm? What is that golden powder I see? AH! Karasumi! You've sprinkled karasumi on the muffin! *Karasumi: Dried mullet roe. It is considered a delicacy in Japan* I see! Karasumi is made of roe, which are fish eggs! It was the salty delicacy of the karasumi mixed with the richness of the egg yolk... ... that created such a deep and robust flavor!

As for me: I hadn’t even known that I was hungry until I’d stepped into the hallway, but at that moment, standing there with a rough stomach and a bad taste in my mouth and the prospect of what would be my last freely chosen meal, it seemed to me that I’d never smelled anything quite so delicious as that sugary warmth: coffee and cinnamon, plain buttered rolls from the Continental breakfast. Funny, I thought, going back into the room and picking up the room service menu: to want something so easy, to feel such appetite for appetite itself.

But between them and the foot of the sky there was something so white on the green grass that even with their eagles’ eyes they could hardly look at it. They came on and saw that it was a Lamb. “Come and have breakfast,” said the Lamb in its sweet milky voice. Then they noticed for the first time that there was a fire lit on the grass and fish roasting on it. They sat down and ate the fish, hungry now for the first time for many days. And it was the most delicious food they had ever tasted. “Please, Lamb,” said Lucy, “is this the way to Aslan’s country?” “Not for you,” said the Lamb. “For you the door into Aslan’s country is from your own world.” “What!” said Edmund. “Is there a way into Aslan’s country from our world too?” “There is a way into my country from all the worlds,” said the Lamb; but as he spoke his snowy white flushed into tawny gold and his size changed and he was Aslan himself, towering above them and scattering light from his mane. Oh, Aslan,” said Lucy. “Will you tell us how to get into your country from our world?” “I shall be telling you all the time,” said Aslan. “But I will not tell you how long or short the way will be; only that it lies across a river. But do not fear that, for I am the great Bridge Builder.

This long letter is because I'm writing before breakfast. Oh, the beautiful vine leaves! The house is covered with a vine. I looked out earlier, and Mrs. Wilcox was already in the garden. No wonder she sometimes looks tired. She was watching the large red poppies come out. Then she walked off the lawn to the meadow, whose corner to the right I can just see. Trail, trail, went her long dress over the sopping grass, and she came back with her hands full of the hay that was cut yesterday - I suppose for rabbits or something, as she kept on smelling it. The air here is delicious. Later on I heard the noise of croquet balls, and looked out again, and it was Charles Wilcox practising; they are keen on all games. Presently he started sneezing and had to stop. Then I hear more clicketing, and it is Mr. Wilcox practising, and then, "a-tissue, a-tissue": he has to stop too. Then Evie comes out, and does some calisthenic exercises on a machine that is tacked to a greengage-tree - they put everything to use - and then she says "a-tissue," and in she goes. And finally Mrs. Wilcox reappears, trail, trail, still smelling hay and looking at the flowers. I inflict all this on you because once you said that life is sometimes life and sometimes only a drama, and one must learn to distinguish t'other from which, and up to now I have always put that down as "Meg's clever nonsense.

After all, a kiss between real lovers is not some type of contract, a neatly defined moment of pleasure, something obtained by greedy conquest, or any kind of clear saying of how it is. It is a grief-drenched hatching of two hearts into some ecstatic never-before-seen bird whose new uncategorizable form, unrecognized by the status quo, gives the slip to Death's sure rational deal. For love is a delicious and always messy extension of life that unfrantically outgrows mortality's rigid insistence on precise and efficient definition. Having all the answers means you haven't really ecstatically kissed or lived, thereby declaring the world defined and already finished. Loving all the questions on the other hand is a vitality that makes any length of life worth living. Loving doesn't mean you know all the notes and that you have to play all the notes, it just means you have to play the few notes you have long and beautifully. Like the sight of a truly beautiful young woman, smooth and gliding, melting hearts at even a distant glimpse, that no words, no matter how capable, can truly describe; a woman whose beauty is only really known by those who take a perch on the vista of time to watch the years of life speak out their long ornate sentences of grooves as they slowly stretch into her smoothness, wrinkling her as she glides struggling, decade by decade, her gait mitigated by a long trail of heavy loads, joys, losses, and suffering whose joint-aching years of traveling into a mastery of her own artistry of living, becomes even more than beauty something about which though we are even now no more capable of addressing than before, our admiration as original Earth-loving human beings should nonetheless never remain silent. And for that beauty we should never sing about, but only sing directly to it. Straightforward, cold, and inornate description in the presence of such living evidence of the flowering speech of the Holy in the Seed would be death of both the beauty and the speaker. Even if we always fail when we speak, we must be willing to fail magnificently, for even an eloquent failure, if in the service of life, feeds the Divine. Is it not a magical thing, this life, when just a little ash, cinder, and unclear water can arrange themselves into a beautiful old woman who sways, lifts, kisses, loves, sickens, argues, loses, bears up under it all, and, wrinkling, still lives under all that and yet feeds the Holy in Nature by just the way she moves barefoot down a path? If we can find the hearts, tongues, and brightness of our original souls, broken or not, then no matter from what mess we might have sprung today, we would be like those old-time speakers of life; every one of us would have it in our nature to feel obligated by such true living beauty as to know we have to say something in its presence if only for our utter feeling of awe. For, finally learning to approach something respectfully with love, slowly with the courtesy of an ornate indirectness, not describing what we see but praising the magnificence of her half-smiles of grief and persistent radiance rolling up from the weight-bearing thumping of her fine, well-oiled dusty old feet shuffling toward the dawn reeds at the edge of her part of the lake to fetch a head-balanced little clay jar of water to cook the family breakfast, we would know why the powerful Father Sun himself hurries to get his daily glimpse of her, only rising early because she does.

There is no single food that affects people as deeply as bacon. Bacon appeals to our basest desires of meat and fat and salt. It elevates everything it touches, transforming a burger into a celebration, taking simple lettuce and tomato and making them more delicious than any salad vegetable has a right to be. Bacon is the ultimate polyamorous food, loving everyone equally, eggs and pancakes, sandwiches and salads, meats and vegetables, mains and sides, savory and sweet. Bacon on grilled cheese? Delicious. Bacon dipped in the maple syrup from your French toast? Sublime. Watch a breakfast buffet, and see where people consistently overindulge. I bet it will be the vat of bacon, which sends its smoky siren song out to everyone.

Jeremy fixed her with a dark look, full of reproach. A hot blush singed the tips of her opal-adorned ears. For a moment, Lucy felt as though she were sitting in the breakfast room wearing only her nightgown—or less. But if he meant to shame her, he would be sorely disappointed. Her lips tingled, and she slowly wet them with her tongue before flashing him a bold grin. He quickly looked away. Oh, what fun it was to vex him. He made it so easy to do. Hunting and fishing were all welland good, but truly, Jemmy-baiting had always been her favorite autumn sport. Lucy viewedhis staid countenance as an unending challenge. A smooth, thick-shelled egg that begged to be cracked. Any rearrangement of his features constituted a victory, be it a wince, a scowl, or that rarest of expressions—a smile. A smile that showed teeth counted double.Last night had shown her an entirely new way to bedevil Jeremy Trescott. Not with girlish pranks, but with womanly wiles. Oh, yes. She ‟ d cracked the egg last night, but good. Hisexpression of befuddled desire was far more amusing than a wince or a scowl, or even asmile that showed teeth. That last kiss had to count at least ten.She lifted her cup of chocolate to her lips. Closing her eyes, she pressed her tongue againstthe cool china rim, remembering the power of a proper kiss. Drinking in the hot, sweetrichness, feeling delicious warmth spread down her throat and pool in her belly. And lower.She sighed into the cup. If Jeremy ‟ s kiss could rival chocolate, Lucy shivered to imaginehow it would be to kiss—

There is no part of this country where one cannot find a source of fresh, organic meat and produce. I’m not talking about Whole Foods, I’m referring to farmers’ markets and local butchers and fishermen and -women. If you can’t find a source for fresh produce and eggs and/or chicken, bacon, and/or dairy products, by Christ, become the source! What more noble pursuit than supplying your community with breakfast foods?! If you want to read more about this notion, by actual smart and informed writers, pick up some Michael Pollan and some Wendell Berry. I have no intention of ever ceasing to enjoy red meat. However, I firmly believe that we can choose how and where our meat is raised, and I’m all for a grass-fed, happy steer finding its way to my grill long before a factory-farmed, filthy, corn-fed lab creation. It’s up to us to choose farm-to-table fare as much as possible until it becomes our society’s norm once again.

Staying focused on the problem also prevents you from falling into the fatal trap of assuming the world is waiting with bated breath for your product to launch. When I used to work in advertising, we would joke that the “insight” in the creative brief was often something along the lines of, “I wish there were a crunchy cereal with raisins that was healthy and also delicious.” But people do not wish this. They might have a hard time finding a quick breakfast that doesn’t make them feel fat or sluggish. And maybe your crunchy raisin cereal is the perfect response to this issue. But they are not waking up in the morning wishing for raisiny, crunchy goodness. Similarly, people are not wishing for your idea to exist, because they don’t even know it’s an option. So when you sit down to clarify what problem you’re solving, a great initial test is to imagine someone’s inner monologue. Is the problem you’ve identified something that a real human might actually be thinking?

Ah! This isn't raw egg at all! The egg white is actually a thinned seawater gelée (jelly)... ... and the yolk is salmon roe firmed in a gelatin! The salmon roe pop crisply, filling the mouth with a rich saltiness... ... that is wrapped up in the mild smoothness of the gelée!" "Oh! This looks like it's just a hard-boiled egg... but the egg white is really a white asparagus mousse! And the yolk is hollandaise sauce made from real egg yolks! The heavy richness of the hollandaise is perfectly balanced with the mild bitterness of the asparagus for an exquisite flavor!" "Then what is this? It looks like an egg in its shell...." "Oh, this?" "She punctured it!" "It's a milkshake. You drink it through the straw, like this. Once I removed the inside of the egg, I filled it with a milkshake made with milk, eggs and caramel." "Mm!It's delicious! Its mellow sweetness and clean aftertaste bring to mind the freshness of an early morning!" "And that is everything! All together, I call it... ..."The Three-Faces of-an-Egg Breakfast."" What an utterly surprising dish! Each piece has an exquisite taste completely unlike what you would expect! On this one plate... ... are miniature representations of... ... the flavors of the ocean, the forest and the earth

Eastern Shore Breakfast Pudding Eggs, cheddar, ham or sausage, and bread baked together in the rich tradition of English savory puddings. This rib-sticking main course is equally delicious in a vegetarian rendition. 4 thick slices white bread, torn into quarters ¾ pound cooked ham, thinly sliced and chopped (or 1 pound sausage meat, cooked and drained) 1 cup sharp cheddar cheese, grated ½ medium onion, minced 1 sweet red pepper, diced 1 tablespoon olive oil 6 eggs 2 cups milk ¼ teaspoon salt Black and red pepper to taste Pinch of nutmeg Parsley to garnish Heat the oven to 350 degrees. Butter a deep 8 x 8 inch baking dish. Lay bread in the dish, covering the bottom, and top with the ham or sausage and cheese. In a small pan, sauté the onion and red pepper in oil until fragrant and softened, about 5 minutes, and layer on top of the cheese. Whisk together the eggs and milk, salt, peppers, and nutmeg. Pour the mixture over the bread, meat, vegetables, and cheese. Bake for about one hour, until the pudding is puffed, firm, and golden brown. Tent with foil if necessary to prevent too much browning. Cut into four squares, garnish with parsley, and serve along with Old Bay potatoes (below), steamed asparagus, and broiled tomatoes. You shouldn’t see a hungry guest again until dinnertime. Note: For vegetarians, substitute for the meat a cup each of lightly steamed broccoli cut into small florets and thinly sliced, sautéed zucchini—both well drained. Serves 4.

Women have served all these centuries as looking-glasses possessing the magic and delicious power of reflecting the figure of man at twice its natural size. Without that power probably the earth would still be swamp and jungle. The glories of all our wars would he unknown. We should still be scratching the outlines of deer on the remains of mutton bones and bartering flints for sheep skins or whatever simple ornament took our unsophisticated taste. Supermen and Fingers of Destiny would never have existed. The Czar and the Kaiser would never have worn crowns or lost them. Whatever may be their use in civilized societies, mirrors are essential to all violent and heroic action. That is why Napoleon and Mussolini both insist so emphatically upon the inferiority of women, for if they were not inferior, they would cease to enlarge. That serves to explain in part the necessity that women so often are to men. And it serves to explain how restless they are under her criticism; how impossible it is for her to say to them this book is bad, this picture is feeble, or whatever it may be, without giving far more pain and rousing far more anger than a man would do who gave the same criticism. For if she begins to tell the truth, the figure in the looking-glass shrinks; his fitness for life is diminished. How is he to go on giving judgement, civilizing natives, making laws, writing books, dressing up and speechifying at banquets, unless he can see himself at breakfast and at dinner at least twice the size he really is?

CRANBERRY SCONES Preheat oven to 425 degrees F., rack in the middle position. 3 cups all-purpose flour (pack it down in the cup when you measure it) 2 Tablespoons white (granulated) sugar 2 teaspoons cream of tartar (important) 1 teaspoon baking powder 1 teaspoon baking soda ½ teaspoon salt ½ cup softened salted butter (1 stick, 4 ounces, ¼ pound) 2 large eggs, beaten (just whip them up in a glass with a fork) 1 cup unflavored yogurt (8 ounces) 1 cup sweetened dried cranberries (Craisins, or their equivalent) ½ cup whole milk Use a medium-size mixing bowl to combine the flour, sugar, cream of tartar, baking powder, baking soda, and salt. Stir them all up together. Cut in the salted butter just as you would for piecrust dough.   Hannah’s Note: If you have a food processor, you can use it for the first step. Cut ½ cup COLD salted butter into 8 chunks. Layer them with the dry ingredients in the bowl of the food processor. Process with the steel blade until the mixture has the texture of cornmeal. Transfer the mixture to a medium-sized mixing bowl and proceed to the second step.   Stir in the beaten eggs and the unflavored yogurt. Then add the sweetened dried cranberries and mix everything up together.   Add the milk and stir until everything is combined.   Drop the scones by soup spoonfuls onto a greased (or sprayed with Pam or another nonstick baking spray) baking sheet, 12 large scones to a sheet. You can also drop these scones on parchment paper if you prefer.   Once the scones are on the baking sheet, you can wet your fingers and shape them into more perfect rounds. (If you do this and there are any leftovers, you can slice them in half and toast them for breakfast the next morning.)   Bake the scones at 425 degrees F. for 12 to 14 minutes, or until they’re golden brown on top.   Cool the scones for at least five minutes on the cookie sheet, and then remove them with a spatula. Serve them in a towel-lined basket so they stay warm.   Yield: Makes 12 large and delicious scones.

Every once in a while at a restaurant, the dish you order looks so good, you don't even know where to begin tackling it. Such are HOME/MADE's scrambles. There are four simple options- my favorite is the smoked salmon, goat cheese, and dill- along with the occasional special or seasonal flavor, and they're served with soft, savory home fries and slabs of grilled walnut bread. Let's break it down: The scramble: Monica, who doesn't even like eggs, created these sublime scrambles with a specific and studied technique. "We whisk the hell out of them," she says, ticking off her methodology on her fingers. "We use cream, not milk. And we keep turning them and turning them until they're fluffy and in one piece, not broken into bits of egg." The toast: While the rave-worthiness of toast usually boils down to the quality of the bread, HOME/MADE takes it a step further. "The flame char is my happiness," the chef explains of her preference for grilling bread instead of toasting it, as 99 percent of restaurants do. That it's walnut bread from Balthazar, one of the city's best French bakeries, doesn't hurt. The home fries, or roasted potatoes as Monica insists on calling them, abiding by chefs' definitions of home fries (small fried chunks of potatoes) versus hash browns (shredded potatoes fried greasy on the griddle) versus roasted potatoes (roasted in the oven instead of fried on the stove top): "My potatoes I've been making for a hundred years," she says with a smile (really, it's been about twenty). The recipe came when she was roasting potatoes early on in her career and thought they were too bland. She didn't want to just keep adding salt so instead she reached for the mustard, which her mom always used on fries. "It just was everything," she says of the tangy, vinegary flavor the French condiment lent to her spuds. Along with the new potatoes, mustard, and herbs de Provence, she uses whole jacket garlic cloves in the roasting pan. It's a simple recipe that's also "a Zen exercise," as the potatoes have to be continuously turned every fifteen minutes to get them hard and crispy on the outside and soft and billowy on the inside.

CUPPA’S ‘TO DIE FOR’ CINNAMON ROLLS Did the description of Cuppa’s amazing cinnamon rolls make your mouth water? Every time I described them in this book I thought about my family’s favorite recipe for cinnamon rolls, and I’ve included it here for you. I think Tory and Meg would approve. All measurements/temperatures are in US units. Makes 12 wonderfully large rolls Dough: 2 packages active dry yeast 1 cup warm water 2/3 cup plus 1 teaspoon granulated sugar, divided 1 cup warmed milk (I microwave this and then stir to be sure there are no hot spots) 2/3 cup softened butter 2 teaspoons salt 2 eggs, beaten 7 to 8 cups all-purpose flour Filling of Deliciousness: 1 cup melted butter, divided (that’s 2 sticks) 1-3/4 cups dark brown sugar, divided 3 Tablespoons ground cinnamon 1 teaspoon ground nutmeg (fresh, if possible) 1 to 2 cups chopped pecans (optional) 1-1/2 cups dark raisins (optional) Frosting: 1/2 cup melted butter 3 cups powdered sugar 1 and a half teaspoons real vanilla 5 to 8 Tablespoons hot water   DIRECTIONS: To make dough combine yeast, warm water and 1 teaspoon sugar in a cup and stir. Set aside. In a large bowl mix warmed milk, remaining 2/3 cup sugar, butter, salt, and eggs. Stir well and add yeast mixture. Add half the flour and beat until smooth. Stir in enough of the remaining flour to make a slightly stiff dough. It’s okay for the dough to be sticky. Turn out onto a well-floured board and knead for 5 to 10 minutes. Place in a well-buttered glass bowl. Cover loosely and let rise in a warm draft-free place until doubled in bulk, about 1 to 1-1/2 hours. When doubled, punch down dough and let it rest for 5 minutes. Roll out onto floured surface into a 15 x 20-inch rectangle. Filling: Spread dough with ½ cup melted butter. Mix together 1/-1/2 cups brown sugar, cinnamon, and nutmeg. Sprinkle over buttered dough. Sprinkle with pecans and raisins, if you want. Sometimes I go really crazy and add a cup of finely-chopped apples, too. Roll up jellyroll-fashion and pinch the edges together to seal. Cut into 12 slices. Coat bottom of a 13”’x 9” and a square 8” pan with the last ½ cup of melted butter, and sprinkle remaining ¼ cup of sugar mixture on top. Place slices close together in pans. Let rise in warm, draft-free place until doubled in bulk (about 45 minutes). Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Bake for 25 to 30 minutes, until nicely browned. Let cool slightly and spread with frosting. Share with others, and be prepared to get marriage proposals ;) Frosting: Mix melted butter, powdered sugar, and vanilla. Add hot water a tablespoon at a time, mixing after each, until frosting is of desired consistency. Spread or drizzle over slightly-cooled rolls.

Derian pulled the blanket snug around himself. “This is my added assurance.” Eena wrinkled her nose as if she thought his answer was odder than his actions. “It’s your what?” “If you recall the last time we were here standing in this very spot, you pelted me with neumberries.” He held up a single berry before popping it into his mouth. “I doubt you would risk soiling your blanket, so I figure wrapping it around me this way I’m pretty much assured safety from any potential attack.” He winked playfully, and she laughed out loud. “I’m afraid you don’t know me half as well as you think,” she announced. Aiming low, she flung a sizable berry at his calf. It hit its mark. “Whoa, whoa!” He lowered the blanket to cover his legs. “You can’t hide yourself entirely, Derian,” she said, aiming for his face. He ducked, raising the blanket like a shield in the process. Another round of ammunition pelted his ankles before he decided it was time to fight back. Eena found herself bound up in her own blanket, arms wrapped securely at her sides. She laughed nonstop, unable to move within his strong hold. Derian leaned forward until their noses touched, and then he kissed her giggles silent. He kept her in the blanket, snug and close to him, but Eena managed to wriggle an arm free and drape it around his neck, holding his lips in reach. She uttered a quick count in between kisses. “Seven,” she breathed. Derian paused, his mouth a whisper away from hers. It tickled when he spoke. “No, no, Eena.” “No what?” “No counting. Not today. No ground rules.” She barely uttered a partial “’kay” before his mouth covered hers again. His hot breath tasted like breakfast. He fixed his hands on each side of her face, and the blanket fell to the ground. As the intensity of their kisses grew hungry, he gripped her cheeks more securely. Eena could feel the air electrifying around them. Her heartbeat drummed—excited and anxious. “Derian…” she breathed. But he didn’t stop. She felt his hand move to support her neck while the other slid down her back, urging her closer. She brought her arms together and pressed against his chest, somewhat objecting to the intimacy. “Derian…” she tried again. But he covered her mouth with his own. She pushed more firmly against him without success. Her protest weakened as his kisses softened. The fervor subsided, and she could feel her wild pulse even out. Amidst a string of supple kisses, Derian’s breathing slowed. He planted his lips on her forehead for a moment before squeezing her tenderly. She snuggled up against his warm chest. “One ground rule,” he whispered in her ear. “We stop when you say ‘when.’” “When,” she uttered. “Okay,” he agreed. Then, as if the thought had just occurred to her, she stepped back to look up questioningly at the captain. “Wasn’t there a leftover sandwich in that basket from last night?” His lips formed a guilty smile as he confessed, “Yes—and it was delicious.

What lesson is this?” she choked out. His wild gaze met hers. “That even a low bastard can be tempted above his station when a lady is as lovely as you.” “A lady? Not a tomboy?” “I wish you were a tomboy, sweeting,” he said bitterly. “Then you wouldn’t have viscounts and earls and dukes vying for your favors.” Was he jealous? Oh, how wonderful if he was! “And Bow Street Runners?” she prodded. He shot her a dark glance that was apparently supposed to serve as her answer, for he then bent to close his mouth over one linen-draped breast. Good. Heavens. What deliciousness what this? She shouldn’t allow it. But the man she’d been fascinated with for months was treating her as if he truly found her desirable, and she didn’t want it to stop. Clutching his head to her, she exulted in the hungry way he sucked her breast through her chemise, turning her knees to water and her blood to stream. He pleasured her breast with teeth and tongue as his hand found her other breast and teased the nipple to arousal. Her pulse leapt so high she feared she might faint. “Jackson…ohhh, Jackson…I thought you…despised me.” “Does this feel like I despise you?” he murmured against her breast, then tongued it silkily for good measure. A sensual tremor swept through her. “No.” But then, she’d been a fool before with men. She wasn’t good at understanding them when it came to this. “If you desired me all along, why didn’t you…say anything before?” “Like what? ‘My lady, I keep imagining you naked in my bed?’” He slid one hand down to her hip. “I’m not fool enough to risk being shot for impertinence.” Should she be thrilled or disappointed to hear that he imagined her in his bed? It was more than she’d expected, yet not enough. She dug her fingers into his shoulder. “How do you know I won’t try shooting you now?” He nuzzled her breast. “You left your pistol on the breakfast table.” A strange excitement coursed through her. It made no sense, considering what had happened the last time a man had got her alone and helpless. “Perhaps I have another hidden in this room.” He lifted his head to gaze steadily into her eyes. “Then I’d best keep you too busy to use it.” Suddenly he was kissing her again, hard, hungry kisses…each more intoxicating than the last. He filled his hands with her breasts and fondled them shamelessly, distracting her from anything but the taste and feel of him. A moan escaped her, and he tore his mouth from hers. “You shouldn’t let me touch you this way.” “Yet I am,” she gasped against his cheek. “And you aren’t stopping, either.” “Say the word, and I will.” Yet he dragged her skirts up and pressed forward between her legs. “This is mad. We’re both mad.” “Are we?” she asked, hardly conscious anymore of what she was aying. Because it felt utterly right to be in his arms, as if she’d waited ages to be there. Her heart had never clamored so for anyone else. “I don’t generally take advantage of my clients’ sisters,” he rasped as his hands slid to grip her thighs. “It’s unwise.” “I’m your client, too. Do I look as if I’m complaining?” she whispered and drew his head down to hers.

By thinking that other people are inferior to oneself. By feeling that one has some innate superiority it may be wealth, or rank, a straight nose, or the portrait of a grandfather by Romney - for there is no end to the pathetic devices of the human imagination over other people. Hence the enormous importance to a patriarch who has to conquer, who has to rule, of feeling that great numbers of people, half the human race indeed, are by nature inferior to himself. It must indeed be one of the chief sources of his power. But let me turn the light of this observation on to real life, I thought. Does it help to explain some of those psychological puzzles that one notes in the margin of daily life? Does it explain my astonishment the other day when Z, most humane, most modest of men, taking up some book by Rebecca West and reading a passage in it, exclaimed, 'The arrant feminist! She says that men are snobs!' The exclamation, to me so surprising for why was Miss West an arrant feminist for making a possibly true if uncomplimentary statement about the other sex? - was not merely the cry of wounded vanity; it was a protest against some infringement of his power to believe in himself. Women have served all these centuries as looking-glasses possessing the magic and delicious power of reflecting the figure of man at twice its natural size. Without that power probably the earth would still be swamp and jungle. The glories of all our wars would be unknown. We should still be scratching the outlines of deer on the remains of mutton bones and bartering flints for sheep skins or whatever simple ornament took our unsophisticated taste. Supermen and Fingers of Destiny would never have existed. The Tsar and the Kaiser would never have worn crowns or lost them. Whatever may be their use in civilized societies, mirrors are essential to all violent and heroic action. That is why Napoleon and Mussolini both insist so emphatically upon the inferiority of women, for if they were not inferior, they would cease to enlarge. That serves to explain in part the necessity that women so often are to men. And it serves to explain how restless they are under her criticism; how impossible it is for her to say to them this book is bad, this picture is feeble, or whatever it may be, without giving far more pain and musing far more anger than a man would do who gave the same criticism. For if she begins to tell the truth, the figure in the looking-glass shrinks; his fitness for life is diminished. How is he to go on giving judgement, civilizing natives, making laws, writing books, dressing up and speechifying at banquets, unless he can see himself at breakfast and at dinner at least twice the size he really is? So I reflected, crumbling my bread and stirring my coffee and now and again looking at the people in the street. The looking-glass vision is of supreme importance because it charges the vitality; it stimulates the nervous system. Take it away and man may die, like the drug fiend deprived of his cocaine. Under the spell of that illusion, I thought, looking out of the window, half the people on the pavement are striding to work. They put on their hats and coats in the morning under its agreeable rays. They start the day confident, braced, believing themselves desired at Miss Smith's tea party; they say to themselves as they go into the room, I am the superior of half the people here, and it is thus that they speak with that self-confidence, that self-assurance, which have had such profound consequences in public life and lead to such curious notes in the margin of the private mind.

The secret to successfully staying within your budget and enjoying delicious one serving meals at the same time is through planning. Set aside an hour each week and dedicate it to planning your breakfast, lunch and dinner meals.

Breakfast Eggs Prep time: 4 minutes, cook time: 15 minutes, serves: 2 Ingredients 4 large eggs, beaten 2 thin slices ham 2 teaspoon unsalted butter 2 tablespoon heavy cream 3 tablespoon Parmesan cheese, grated ⅛ teaspoon smoked paprika 2 sprigs fresh chives, chopped A pinch of salt to taste ¼ teaspoon black pepper, freshly ground Directions Butter the Pie Pan and put the ham slices, so that the bottom and sides of the Pie Pan are completely covered. Place the pan into the Air Fryer basket. In the medium mixing bowl combine beaten egg with heavy cream. Season with salt and ground black pepper. Whisk well to combine. Pour egg mixture into the Pie Pan, over the ham, and crack the remaining 3 eggs over top. Season lightly with salt and pepper and sprinkle with grated Parmesan cheese. Preheat the Air Fryer to 310-330 F and cook for about 10-12 minutes. When ready, uncover the Fryer and season the eggs with smoked paprika and chopped chives. Using a spatula, remove the shirred eggs from the Pie Pan, and transfer to a plate. Serve warm.

I made the Gruyère cheese soufflé and the grilled ham with apricot sauce. Nathan prepared the yogurt parfaits with fruit compote." "Nathan, how'd it go with this first challenge?" "Good. I think I managed okay." His eyes were wild and he looked slightly shell-shocked. "Did you get a chance to taste Helene's food?" "Yeah." He nodded vigorously. "She's good." The other contestants laughed at the understatement. Jenny clapped her hands together. "My favorite dish was an American specialty. Buckwheat pancakes with a trio of toppings... classic maple syrup tapped right here at the farm, a blackberry sauce with mint, and a delicious maple walnut butter. And the bacon-wrapped Brussels sprouts side was crispy and salty and delicious.

Palermo is dotted everywhere with frittura shacks- street carts and storefronts specializing in fried foods of all shapes and cardiac impacts. On the fringes of the Ballarò market are bars serving pane e panelle, fried wedges of mashed chickpeas combined with potato fritters and stuffed into a roll the size of a catcher's mitt. This is how the vendors start their days; this is how you should start yours, too. If fried chickpea sandwiches don't register as breakfast food, consider an early evening at Friggitoria Chiluzzo, posted on a plastic stool with a pack of locals, knocking back beers with plates of fried artichokes and arancini, glorious balls of saffron-stained rice stuffed with ragù and fried golden- another delicious ode to Africa. Indeed, frying food is one of the favorite pastimes of the palermitani, and they do it- as all great frying should be done- with a mix of skill and reckless abandon. Ganci is among the city's most beloved oil baths, a sliver of a store offering more calories per square foot than anywhere I've ever eaten. You can smell the mischief a block before you hit the front door: pizza topped with french fries and fried eggplant, fried rice balls stuffed with ham and cubes of mozzarella, and a ghastly concoction called spiedino that involves a brick of béchamel and meat sauce coated in bread crumbs and fried until you could break someone's window with it.

Let's grab something for you from the kitchen, and then we'll go find Magnus." The "something" turned out to be a wedge of the most amazing cake he'd ever tasted. It had cream in the middle, a crust of honey and almonds on top. He crammed half a wedge into his mouth and moaned aloud. "Damn, that's good," he said around the mouthful. "Damn." "I already ordered it for my wedding breakfast," said Tess. "It's called Bienenstich- bee sting cake," said Isabel, coming into the kitchen. "Appropriate, under the circumstances." He turned to face her, his cheeks stuffed with food like a chipmunk's. Then he swallowed the bite of food. "It's delicious. Did you make it?" he asked, not taking his eyes off her. While Tess had red hair and freckles, Isabel had olive-toned skin, dark eyes and full lips, like a flamenco dancer or maybe an Italian film star swathed in veils. "I did," she said. "It's a German tradition.

Entertaining Possibilities "Why sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast." - The Queen of Hearts, Alice in Wonderland riding bareback on a triceratops through green galaxies while you ride beside me on your favorite mastodon running a finger over those I love and like a highlighter pen turning them neon noting them forever so I can return to them easily when I need them thinking something good can come of "ethnic cleansing" swimming in an ocean deep and wet enough to fill the eternity of love between these two sheets walking into the vowels of a word like open and becoming it locking away Pandora's box putting evil back in its place for good and swallowing the key lighting myself with a single match then watching me melt warm and liquid over your body cooling gently in the shape of you sitting flat in round anticipation I will be page 233 in the book that you have just opened and I will chew on each delicious moment of every turn as you move page by page closer to me stowing away in your pillowcase and sailing your dreams so that when you are sent to walk the plank I can catch you together we can be the mutiny on any bounty letting my best ideas ripen beside yours on the vine then stomping it all juicy between toes yours and mine aging then bottling it all till the sun falls and we uncork our store one by one and drink forever in the twilight planting a memory watering the spot watching it grow tall, tender, familiar, then putting my ear to its blossom and hearing my grandmother's voice tell me again that I can be both the gift and the giver

French toast? Frittata? Definitely frittata. Leaving the table again, she transferred a small packet from freezer to fridge. It was salmon, home-smoked on the island and more delicious than any she had ever found elsewhere. Smoked salmon wasn't Cecily's doing, but the dried basil and thyme she took from the herb rack were. Taking a vacuum-sealed package of sun-dried tomatoes from the cupboard, she set it on the counter beside the herbs. Frittata, hot biscuits, and fruit salad. With mimosas. And coffee. That sounded right. Eaten out on the deck maybe? No, not on the deck, unless the prevailing winds turned suddenly warm. They would eat here in the kitchen, with whatever flowers the morning produced. Surely more lavender. A woman could never have enough lavender- or daylilies or astilbe, neither of which should bloom this early, but both of which had looked further along than the lavender, yesterday morning, so you never knew.

But for now, you are only mine," she said a bit more fiercely than she had intended. "And I am not ready to share you with them all just yet." His low laugh, which had been coming more easily lately, rolled freely from his throat as he brought her back into his arms. "Yet, you force meto share you," he stated. "You realize that once we are married, I will be able to take you away on a grand honeymoon. It will be just the two of us. Not only for the darkest hours of the night," he murmured suggestively as his hands began to roam up and down the length of her back, inciting delicious shivers. He lowered his head beside hers to tease the sensitive skin of her neck with his lips and breath. "But all day, as well. Through sunrise, midday, and dusk. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner." Lily sighed, melting into him. Her hands reached around to grasp his buttocks, and she pressed her lips to his bare shoulder before asking, "Can we take all of our meals to bed?" His laughter was deep, rolling, and infectious as he stepped away. "I had better get you home, or I shall make another meal of you.

Amish Baked Oatmeal I would love to boast that I was taught how to make this breakfast dish by my Amish friend three farms over, but that isn’t the case. Instead, I learned how to make it from fellow homeschooling moms--which, if you don’t happen to live near an Amish community, is the next best thing. Homeschooling moms are rich with ideas for recipes that are quick, easy, nutritious, and gol-darn delicious…and that just so happens to be the exact Merriam-Webster definition for Amish Baked Oatmeal! This is pretty much an oatmeal cookie that decided to defect to the breakfast category, and I’m so very glad it did. It’s super easy to make, too!

This is Just to Say I have eaten the plums that were in the icebox and which you were probably saving for breakfast Forgive me they were delicious so sweet and so cold

FLAVORED AIR A truly unique type of candy that turns breathing into a delicious experience. Flavored air comes in a wide variety of flavors and keeps the air sweet and mouthwatering for several minutes after popping open the can. FLUFFCREAMS A delicious flaky pastry filled with a cloud of honey, cinnamon, and butter. Perfect for dessert, a snack, or breakfast—or all of the above!

Without her, I probably would have stayed in Brooklyn and got some delicious chocolate chip cookie with salt on top every day, instead of driving across the country. This hypothetical cookie, clearly a real cookie, and one of the best I've ever had) would have satiated me temporarily but I would have stayed put, in all the ways...But because of her, I also end up outside my comfort zone, in unwieldy territory - like falling in love or eating alone at a bed-and-breakfast.

up and got out the ’greedients. ’Greedients is the stuff you mix together. Like the bowl. And the spoon. And the cereal. And the milk. Except for the milk carton was very too heavy for me. And so I just got the orange juice, instead. I put my bowl of cereal on the floor. Then I poured orange juice to the tippy-top of it. I took a giant bite. “Yum,” I said. “This is the most delicious breakfast I ever ate. Except for it doesn’t actually taste that good.

The spirit of the place is not not friendly. Meals begin in silence; once everyone is seated, someone slaps the wooden clackers and leads a little chant. The food is often amazingly good, and despite the growing number of vegans in the ranks, heaps of delicious cheese are often melted and sprinkled and layered into the hot things that come out of the kitchen. At breakfast, watch the very senior people deal with rice gruel, and you'll know enough to spike yours with brown sugar and stir in some whole milk or cream, and you could do much worse on a morning in March. ("You can't change your karma, but you can sweeten your cereal," whispered an elderly priest when I nobly and foolishly added nothing to that blob in my bowl during my first stay at the farm.) Once eating is under way, the common dining room looks rather like a high school cafeteria; there are insider and outsider tables, and it is often easy to spot the new students and short-term guests—they're a few minutes late because they haven't memorized the schedule; they're smiling bravely, wielding their dinner trays like steering wheels, weaving around, desperately looking for a public parking space, hoping someone will wave or smile or otherwise signal them to safety I asked a practice leader about this, and she said she knew it was hard but people have to get over their self consciousness; for some newcomers, she said, that's zazen, that's their meditative practice. I think that's what I mean by not not friendly

Here’s one of Claire’s favorite recipes, which never fails to make smiles bloom around the breakfast table. The ingredients and spices are varied, and Claire claims there’s no reason to worry if you don’t have everything on hand. Just improvise. The muffins never come out the same way twice but are always delicious . . . and could be called Vanishing Muffins, since they disappear so quickly. Morning Glory Muffins MAKES 16 MUFFINS Ingredients 2¼ cups unbleached all-purpose flour 2 teaspoons baking soda ¾ cup brown sugar, lightly packed (light or dark) ¾ cup white sugar 2 tablespoons cinnamon 1 teaspoon ground ginger ½ teaspoon allspice 2 cups grated carrots 1 cup (8 ounces) crushed pineapple, packed in juice and drained ¾ cup raisins (golden preferred) ½ cup shredded coconut ½ cup chopped walnuts or pecans 3 large eggs 1 teaspoon vanilla extract 1 cup canola oil Directions Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F with a rack in the lower third. Line muffin tins with paper cups. In a large bowl, mix together the flour, baking soda, sugar, cinnamon, ginger, and allspice. Add the carrots, pineapple, raisins, coconut, and nuts, and mix thoroughly. In a separate bowl, whisk the eggs with the vanilla and then the oil. Pour egg mixture into the dry ingredients in thirds and blend well. (Do not overmix or muffins will turn out tough.) Fill muffin cups to the brim. Bake for 30-35 minutes or until a toothpick or sharp, thin knife inserted in the middle of a muffin comes out clean. Allow to cool for 10-15 minutes and remove from tins.

It took about fifteen weeks—a little more than three months—for Dr. Ham to change my inner narrative from a hateful whip-bearing tyrant to a chill(er) surfer dude. Like love and bankruptcy, it happened slowly, then all at once. Right now, I’m making breakfast. I woke up late, I accidentally missed a call this morning, it’s eleven A.M., and I have work to do. But I’m not rushing. I’m sautéing potatoes and onions and peppers together and frying eggs and chopping cilantro for some breakfast tacos. I assemble them carefully and then crumble cotija on top. They are delicious. I decide I’ll get to washing up when I get to it. I’ll get to everything when I get to it. The world will keep turning. The tacos are delicious, and I take my time eating them. And then I’m marvelling: Oh, wow. Maybe this life I’ve got is going to be spectacular, after all.

Website: Cliffsidebeach.com; Instagram: @cliffsidebeachclub. The Greydon House (not to be confused with Graydon, Edie’s creepy ex-boyfriend) used to be a private home and dentist’s office but it has been lavishly remodeled into a cozy boutique hotel with an unbelievably good restaurant, Via Mare. I have stayed at the Greydon House twice myself on a “stay-cation” and found the highlights to be the delicious breakfasts, the tiles in the showers, and the ideal in-town location.

It’s delicious for dessert, but also fit for a meal in itself—even for breakfast, my personal ideal time for pie.

Antioxidant-Rich Breakfast Bars SERVES 6 INGREDIENTS 1 cup cooked or canned black beans, low-sodium or no-salt-added 1 medium ripe banana 1 cup old-fashioned oats 1 cup frozen blueberries, thawed ¼ cup raisins ⅛ cup pomegranate juice 2 tablespoons finely chopped dates 1 tablespoon chopped walnuts 2 tablespoons goji berries 2 tablespoons raw sunflower seeds 2 tablespoons ground flax seeds DIRECTIONS Preheat the oven to 275°F. Puree beans in a food processor or high-powered blender. Mash banana in a large bowl. Add pureed beans and remaining ingredients and mix thoroughly. Lightly wipe an 8-inch square baking pan with a small amount of olive oil. Spread mixture into the pan. Bake for 75 minutes. Cool on a wire rack and cut into bars. Refrigerate any leftover bars. PER SERVING: CALORIES 188; PROTEIN 6g; CARBOHYDRATES 35g; TOTAL FAT 3.9g; SATURATED FAT 0.4g; SODIUM 11mg; FIBER 6g; BETA-CAROTENE 13ug; VITAMIN C 10mg; CALCIUM 24mg; IRON 2.1mg; FOLATE 61ug; MAGNESIUM 83mg; ZINC 1mg; SELENIUM 6.8ug

2 grilled chicken breasts, diced 1 avocado, peeled and diced 5-6 green lettuce leaves, cut in stripes 3-4 green onions, finely chopped 5-6 radishes, sliced 7-8 grape tomatoes 2 tbsp lemon juice 3 tbsp extra virgin olive oil 1 tsp dried mint salt and black pepper, to taste

Breakfast: Cinnamon Banana Pancakes These dairy-free and egg-free pancakes are not only delicious, but they are full of calcium, good fats and potassium that are healing to the body.   Serves: 2 Cooking time: 30 minutes   Ingredients: 4 overripe bananas, mashed 2 tablespoons coconut oil ½ teaspoon cinnamon powder ½ teaspoon allspice 2 tablespoons maple syrup

Not a morning person, is she?” a lazy voice drawled. Maddie dropped her hand to stare into Sam Roberts’s amused face. He sat across from Mitch, long, denim-clad legs stretched out, one hand hugging a coffee cup. Of course. What was breakfast with Mitch if not another new humiliation? This town was custom-made to put her in awkward situations. She glared at Mitch, who grinned like the cat who ate the canary. “Do you ever have breakfast alone?” He shrugged. “They’re big fans of the drop-in.” “From the looks of her, she should be in a much better mood,” Sam said, clearly entertained. Maddie crossed her arms over her breasts. She might as well be naked in her skimpy tank top and cotton shorts. “No need to be shy.” Sam winked at her. “I saw you last night, although you were considerably less rumpled.” She rolled her eyes. “Isn’t it polite to allow a girl some dignity?” “What do you mean, last night?” Mitch asked at the same time, eyes narrowed on Sam. A muscle jumped in his forearm as his fingers tightened around his mug. “Don’t even tell me that’s what you were wearing.” “I was sitting on the front porch when he came home.” She ran her hand through her disheveled hair, getting caught in the wild mass of tangles. Sam gave Mitch a sly, devious smile. “Not my fault you left her alone for just anyone to come take a peek.” Mitch’s attention snapped to Maddie. She refused to fidget under his scrutiny. One golden brow rose. Maddie huffed. “I don’t need to explain myself to you.” “Hmmmm . . .” Mitch gave her a through once-over. Maddie’s chin shot up. “This is your fault, not mine!” Sam scrubbed his blond, stubbled jaw. “She’s got a point.” “I suppose she does,” Mitch said, but his tone spoke of a different story. Those amber eyes told her without words that she’d be paying later with his own delicious brand of torture. She

Quinoa and Banana Muffins

In my desperation to try to lull myself into a gentle sloom, I have created a list of things that will often assist my descent into delicious treacle-sleep. The list includes a series of things I can do if I go to bed and wake up early, and includes things like playing games and reading books, but one item that continually seems to work is telling myself: The faster I go to sleep, the faster I can have cookies for breakfast. This idea might seem rudimentary, but it staves off the sulks long enough that I can find a few hours of sleep, even on the hottest of days. If only Biscuit Power worked for other insomniacs, cookies might save humanity from itself.

Dear Charles, she wrote. After writing to express my appreciation for all the generosity of our friends, I would be remiss indeed if I did not include a missive to you. Out of all the new blessings in my new life, the one I thank God for the most is you. I thank you for writing to me through Genteel Correspondence, and for choosing me out of all the other women eager for adventure in the wild west. I thank you for your kindness, and your gentleness toward me. Only very strong men can be gentle. I thank you for sharing your home and your life with me. I thank you for inventing delicious breakfasts. And chicory flavored coffee. And prayers that ease my mind and inspire my spirit and lift my heart. For your smile and the way you hold your hat in your hands. For the things you say and how you say them. Did you know that I pray for you each day? I do. I pray for your safety and happiness. Yours in Christ, Rose

chill.

SUGARS 0 grams FIBER 0.1 gram Chapter 2 Breakfast Muffin tins will revolutionize the way you make breakfast. No more standing over a stove, stirring and flipping! Eggs cook beautifully in muffin tins as do ham and sausage. Starting your morning with a lovely little breakfast completely contained in a muffin cup is a wonderful beginning to the day. Many of these recipes can be assembled the night before and refrigerated until you’re ready to pop them in the oven. Be sure to check Chapter 8, Muffins and Breads, for other breakfast ideas, since muffins also make great breakfasts. egg crescent pockets Makes 8 1 package of 8 crescent rolls dough 4 large slices of deli ham, cut in half ½ cup herbed goat cheese (or cheese of your choice) Dried thyme, to taste 8 eggs Salt and pepper Regular 1. Preheat oven to 375°F. 2. Place 8 muffin cup liners in a regular muffin tin and spray the inside of them with cooking spray. 3. Follow the instructions for crescent roll dough in “Crescent Roll Crusts” in the Introduction. 4. Take half a piece of ham and fold it so it fits inside the liner. 5. Place the goat cheese on top of the ham, and add a pinch of thyme. 6. Crack an egg and place it in the liner. 7. Sprinkle with salt and pepper to taste. 8. Bake for 20 minutes, until egg whites are completely set and crescent rolls are browned. Allow each to rest for a few minutes before lifting the cups out of the muffin pan. Try this with salami instead of ham and provolone instead of goat cheese, for a different flavor. This is great with some fruit salad at brunch.

It was after our breakfast that I was told to go up along with the parlour maid and serve the family breakfast. I was very nervous, but the parlour maid told me not to worry. So up I went, shaking in my boots, and into the breakfast room where the sideboard was laden with kidneys and rice and bacon and all sorts of delicious things. There were just four people at the table: three elderly men and a woman with a green parrot on her shoulder. Now, the thing about the parrot was that it had messed all down her shoulder and all down the front of her dress and she wasn't in the least bothered. She just smiled into the distance and every now and then fed the bird something from her hand.

Liam's hash brown casserole can only be described as so over-the-top ridiculous I fear Paula Deen is sitting somewhere cackling about it. I can tell that there is cheese, butter, and sour cream in there, and do not want to know what else. It is delicious, as are the perfectly dried eggs, crispy bacon, buttery toast, and juicy sausages. The muffins are banana chocolate chip, otherwise known as breakfast cake.

I didn’t get a chance to say it earlier,” Delia said in a whisper loud enough to be heard…well, almost two stories up on a rope ladder anyway, making Kerry wince a little. “We really do like him. We’re happy for you.” Kerry wanted to hiss who’s we? but refrained. As far as she could tell, Cooper had spent the past three days befriending every man, woman, and lobster in Blueberry Cove. And every single one of them had managed to find a moment to tell her so. She was happy--truly--that everyone liked him but not surprised. He was a likeable guy. And she was equally happy folks were happy for her. Now she just wished they’d butt out and let her get on with being happy with Cooper. She managed to give Delia a little salute with half of one hand while still clutching the rope, and Delia gave her another enthusiastic wave, eyes sparkling. Kerry waited until Delia had scooted on back toward the café before turning her attention to the trapdoor. And almost had her second heart attack when she looked up, only to find Cooper staring down at her, his chin propped on folded arms, meaning he was lying flat on the balcony deck. He smiled and lifted his fingers in a little wave. “Nice of you to drop up,” he said, a smile curving his lips but the glittering light in his blue eyes telling a different story. His voice was deep and just a shade rough, which made her skin tingle in delicious anticipation. “I got waylaid by another of your throng of supporters and well-wishers so you only have yourself to blame.” “So I heard,” he said. “I’ll be sure to thank her later and tip double the usual when we order breakfast in tomorrow morning.” “Awfully sure of yourself, mister.” “Finish climbing that ladder and I’ll be happy to explain the source of my confidence.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Or, better yet, I’ll show you.” “Well, if I’d known there was going to be show and tell, I’d have gotten up here sooner.

Start your day off right with a delicious chia pudding - packed with fiber, protein, and healthy fats, it's the perfect choice for a satisfying and nourishing breakfast that will help you reach your weight loss goals.

Fuel your day with a nutritious and delicious chia seed pudding, packed with fiber, protein, and essential vitamins and minerals. It's the perfect superfood breakfast to give you the energy and nourishment you need to conquer anything that comes your way.

her eyes sparkling with anticipation. Evening came and Lara led Anna to a hidden clearing in the forest, not far from her new project. The square was decorated with small fairy lights and lanterns that gave off a soft, romantic glow. The air was filled with the delicate scent of wild flowers and the quiet murmuring of a nearby stream. In the middle of the clearing there was a small rustic table covered with delicious treats - fresh bread, cheese, wine and of course Anna's favorite cake. "Wow, Lara,” whispered Anna overwhelmed. "That is... incredible." Lara took Anna's hand and led her to the table. “I just wanted to remind us of everything

Chia seeds may be small, but their nutritional value packs a powerful punch. Just one serving of chia seed pudding is loaded with protein, fiber, and essential omega-3 fatty acids, making it the perfect fuel to start your day right. Add in some fresh fruit and you have a delicious and nutrient-dense breakfast that will keep you satisfied and energized all morning long.

learned this last lesson while checking out Mercury’s temple after my delicious and nutritious breakfast. Compared to the dinky shrines of the minor gods and goddesses, Great-Granddad’s place isn’t too shabby. A rectangular structure with marble columns all around the outside, an ornate fresco above the entrance, and inside, a life-size statue of the god himself. The weird thing happened when I approached the altar. Someone had put two message bins there in honor of Mercury’s role as messenger to the gods. The bin marked OUTGOING was overflowing with notes, but the INCOMING one was empty, a sad reminder that our communications have flatlined. Still, I added a note of my own to the outbox. Just a little Hey, Great-Granddad, what’s the word from Olympus? I was about to leave when I heard a fluttering sound. A piece of paper had appeared in the INCOMING bin. Written on it was the Roman numeral twelve—XII—and nothing else.

town car. At a signal from Bernie, he opened the back door and pulled a bound and gagged woman from the car. Croft said to Gert, “I believe you’re acquainted with Mrs. Plummer.” * * * Laurel had gone into the kitchen, expecting to find her father-in-law rummaging for the makings of breakfast. Instead, Bernie Croft had been rifling through her recipe box. Fanning one of the cards at her, he’d greeted her pleasantly. “Good morning, Mrs. Plummer. This lemon chess pie sounds delicious.” And then from behind her, a heavy hand had been clamped over her mouth

I dished up a big plate of longsilog---longganisa (the delicious sausages I loved so much I'd named my adorable dachshund after them), sinangag (garlic fried rice), and itlog (fried egg). Traditional Filipino breakfasts typically included sinangag and itlog, as well as some form of protein you chose---tocilog, tapsilog, spamsilog, bangsilog, etc. It sounded intense, but this hearty meal was the only real way to start the day. No bowls of cereal or skipping meals in the Macapagal household. We worked long, hard hours and needed the delicious fuel to get us through the day.

Rob ordered my aunt's signature mixed adobo lunch platter, while Sana echoed my order for shrimp sinigang, a delicious, tangy soup that managed to be both comforting and refreshing. Valerie went with one of our breakfast platters, available all day due to their popularity. She couldn't decide which meat to choose---I kept pushing her toward longganisa, the most delicious sausage ever---so Joy told her she could get a sampler platter with small portions of the sweet, garlicky longganisa, sweet, cured tocino, and salty, lightly dried tapa.

of the most delicious Cox’s Orange Pippins each autumn leaning precariously on the garden wall, the tree like a corner boy up to no good, her mother used to joke. Harp ran around the back – the front door hadn’t been opened in years at that stage – and let herself in. The kitchen was just the same, the delph from breakfast drying on the rack beside the big, deep Belfast sink, the large black flags on the floor, the table cleared and scrubbed, ready for dinner preparations, the big black enamel range that never went out heating the room, winter and summer, the tea cloths hanging on the line over it. Everything neat and tidy. She scurried out the door of the kitchen into the wide bright hallway, almost skidding on the silk carpet runner as she rounded the ornate bannister to bound up the stairs, taking two at a time. The landing overlooked the hallway and was home to a huge walnut sideboard on which sat all the china dolls Mrs Devereaux had loved. Harp thought they were a bit creepy with their glass eyes, real hair and fancy handmade clothes, and thankfully she’d never felt the

Frittatas are one of those dishes that are perfect for any meal—we make them for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, or serve them thinly sliced as an appetizer when entertaining. They taste just as good at room temperature as they do hot out of the oven. They are so easy to prepare—you need just one skillet, and the filling options are endless. Most important tip: For the filling, stick to ingredients that are already cooked—too much moisture will make the frittata soggy.

The Menopause Diet: 101 Delicious Low Fat Soup, Salad, Main Dish, Breakfast and Dessert Recipes for Better Health and Natural Weight Loss

Lily heard feet padding along the landing outside her room and then her mother pushed open the door without knocking, carrying a breakfast tray: bread and jam, a glass of pomegranate juice, and a pot of tea. Yesterday, Lily couldn't drink the milk. It was warm, tasted too much like cow, and the egg yolks were bright orange, so she just ate the naan. She had never before eaten flatbread like this- baked on hot stones, dimpled and crusty, it tasted sour and earthy and so delicious, she could eat an entire slab.

Easy Ways To Make Your Favorite Foods Healthier So you have decided that it is time to eat healthy. The only thing you know is that it's hard to change something that you have been doing all your life. The tips that you will find in this article will help you lead a nutritious life and to keep with it. To avoid eating too much food at mealtime when dieting, use smaller plates, bowls and cups. It is instinct to fill up your plate so if you use smaller dishes, you will eat less food. Your mind will also let your stomach know you are full since you see a full plate when eating. A great nutritional tip is to subscribe to a magazine devoted to nutrition. There are plenty of publications out there that offer interesting recipes, as well as, the latest information regarding health and nutrition. Having a nutrition magazine like this, can make cooking at home, a lot more exciting. To stay away from sodas and other sugary drinks, you need to find an alternative. It is natural to have cravings for something sweet: why not try fruit juice? Or better yet, mix fruit juice and water. Buy some oranges and squeeze them yourself. You can do the same with a lot of fruits, and combine different kind of juices for flavor. Try buying your fruits and vegetables at a farmer's market near you. Not only do locally-grown foods have a minimal impact on the environment, but they are also better for you, since small farms generally use less harmful chemicals. It's fun to walk around and sample all the delicious fruits and vegetables. Converse with the farmers to ensure you know exactly where and how the food was produced. A good nutrition tip is to stay away from muffins and bagels when you're eating breakfast. Muffins and bagels tend to be high in sugar, and their glycemic index is pretty high. This means that they'll more than likely be stored as fat. Try eating oatmeal instead. Salad is one of the best things that you can put into your body, and can limit the amount of fat that you consume. Instead of eating a hearty meal that is filled with calories and carbohydrates, eat a salad. This will go a long way in your quest for the perfect body. If you are a big coffee drinker, try switching to decaf coffee. Decaf coffee is low in calories and can help you with your coffee cravings. If you need to add items to your coffee, such as sugar or milk, be sure to use the healthiest options available: for example, skim milk or sugar substitute. Liven up your homemade omelet, by including fresh or frozen vegetables. Omelets have an irresistible attraction when they contain fresh or frozen vegetables. Vegetables add interest, as well as, texture, color, flavor and vital nutrients. Just slice some up, saute and then add them to the omelet just before you flip and close it up. As you can see with these tips, switching over to a nutritious lifestyle is not as hard as it first seems. With the simple ideas presented in this article, you will be able to live a healthy and nutritious life. So no matter what kinds of foods you were eating before, if you follow these tips, you will succeed.

As we inched by Worli Naka Monita screamed and pointed to a hoarding above us. I peered out of the window, almost bumping my head against the roof of the cab. It showed a chubby girl cartoon with wildly curling black hair standing nose to nose with a dark, scowling boy cartoon in India cricket blues. The girl was smilingly offering a slice of buttered bread to the boy. The line on top advised, 'Don't skip her breakfast, Skipper,' and underneath it a legend read, 'LUCKILY, BUTTERLY DELICIOUS - AMUL!

He is a weasel though.” “Zat is true.” “And why was that woman wearing her hair in the shape of breakfast pastries?” “I zink she vants to look delicious.

Everyone reached out excitedly and ripped off the fruit, placing it on top of their cereal. Stef and Alice both picked up their spoons and began to eat. The room filled with clanging sounds as the spoons hit the porcelain bowls, echoing across the hall. 'Ahem,' Miss Moffat said, as she rose up from her dragon chair, her eyes fixed firmly on Stef and Alice before she led the rest of the girls into saying the witches’ creed. 'Witches old and witches young owls and bats and black cats too. Come together in this castle to bring out the best in you. With perfect love and perfect trust we learn the spells and witches' rules. Acting for the good of all now let’s eat in this great hall.' All eyes were on Stef and Alice who had finally realized what was going on. Both girls tried to quietly put their spoons down and swallow their food as quickly as possible. Stef began to choke and attempted to stifle the sound, reaching out for a sip of pineapple juice, the golden liquid that had magically appeared in each of the goblets. She tried to take a sip but had begun choking so much that she couldn't manage to drink any, and her face turned into a light shade of purple. 'Open your mouth,' Molly said, as she appeared by Stef's side. Stef opened it the best she could as Molly called over a bat, and with a wave of her wand, she caused it to shrink until it was the size of a small coin. Stef looked on in horror as it flew into her mouth and down her throat, appearing a few seconds later gripping the stuck piece of cereal. The rest of the girls cheered, and Stef looked sheepish, annoyed with herself for causing drama again and bringing negative attention to herself. 'Are you okay?' Charlotte whispered to her and Stef nodded back. Breakfast was by far the tastiest one that Charlotte had ever had. She'd never tasted fruit as delicious before and looked on in awe as the goblets continued to refill with pineapple juice. When the meal was finished, and the staff departed, Molly, whose hair was in a side braid, addressed the girls. 'I’d like all the new girls to stay behind, please, so I can take you to get kitted out with wands and broomsticks.' Each girl

FLUFFCREAMS A delicious flaky pastry filled with a cloud of honey, cinnamon, and butter. Perfect for dessert, a snack, or breakfast—or all of the above!

No, thanks. No breakfast,” Elly said. “I got a call. I need to go down to the clinic. I was wondering if you could help me figure out how the shower works? I don’t want to end up spraying myself.

I woke up the next morning, and the house smelt delicious. Mike was making me breakfast. I was so happy because at the time I was so hungry.

I had checked that fruit carefully. It had caffeine in it. Great breakfast fruit. Delicious

If you say her brother, I’m going to fucking scream.” Carson closes his mouth and slowly reaches for his water. “She sent it to him, didn’t see?” Carson doesn’t say anything. “Carson, just tell me, did she? Did she send it to my idol? My hero. My number-one man? Cory Fucking Potter?” Carson clears his throat. “I think you know the answer to that question.” I place my head in my hand. “Why is life so unfair?” “Blame yourself and your late-night shopping,” Knox says. Sighing, I say, “Can I admit something?” “Please do,” Carson says with a grin. “I’ve made them every goddamn weekend ever since. They’re the best waffles I’ve ever had.” Carson and Knox both bust out in laughter. “And you know what?” I jab the table with my finger. “I’m man enough to admit liking penis waffles. They’re fucking delicious and there’s no shame in eating a phallic breakfast on the weekends.

Delicious aromas wafted in from the kitchen. Eggs, Father Cousineau was quite certain, and unless he was mistaken, fresh bread, baked beans, cretons, some kind of pork glistening with fat, and a full and generous teapot were standing by. The American girl was at work. He noted happily that everyone in the Lamontagne family appeared to have gained weight, even though Lent had just ended. Well-rounded cheeks, tight clothes, generous bosoms... Old Ma Madeleine's sons and daughters had spent an anti-Lent to which the American cook's arrival was surely no stranger. The breakfast table had not yet been cleared when Madeleine the American asked the priest to take a seat. "Please, Father..." She disappeared into the kitchen, returning with a plate piled high with pancakes, eggs, and slices of ham. All swimming in a half-inch of maple syrup.

I obviously love Jack the Horse Tavern in Brooklyn Heights. The smoked trout salad is what lures me back again and again; it's indicative of the offbeat menu that also includes baked eggs, buckwheat pancakes, and a shrimp club sandwich. Everything at the Farm on Adderly is fresh and tasty. This Ditmas Park pioneer keeps it simple and refined: a smoked pollock cake with harissa mayonnaise, french toast with apple compote, and a kale salad with dried cherries and hazelnuts. Yes, please! Tucked away in the north of ever-popular DUMBO, Vinegar Hill House feels like you've actually trekked to Vermont. In the rustic ambiance, you can indulge in fancy cocktails along with the oversized sourdough pancake, tarragon-accented omelet, or eggs Benedict topped with pickled onion. Buttermilk Channel is the ultimate indulgence- pecan pie french toast, Provençal bean stew, a house-cured lox platter. Because of the over-the-top menu and portions, this Carroll Gardens bistro hops all day, every Sunday.

Sesame-free Hummus GF P SERVES 6; PREPARATION TIME 10 MINUTES (IF COOKING THE CHICKPEAS THERE IS ADDITIONAL SOAKING AND COOKING TIME) This delicious hummus can be used to accompany crackers and vegie sticks; use a dollop on salads or spread it onto sandwiches or toast for a protein-rich snack, breakfast or lunch. See Notes on following page. 1 1/2 cups cooked chickpeas (garbanzo beans)—see section entitled “Cooking guide for legumes P” for cooking instructions (or use 1x400g/14oz can organic chickpeas, drained and rinsed) 1 small clove garlic, minced 1 tablespoon rice bran oil 4–5 tablespoons filtered water 1/4 teaspoon ascorbic acid or citric acid (see ‘Soaking acids’) 1/4 teaspoon Celtic sea salt 1/2 handful or less of chopped spring onions (scallions), green parts only Place all the ingredients into a food processor and blend until smooth. Taste and adjust if necessary. Add a splash of water if a thinner consistency is desired. Hummus will last for 4–5 days in the refrigerator if stored in a sealed container. NOTES This dip is wonderfully garlicky so you may want to reduce the garlic and add more after sampling.

Breakfast