16 Feb

Breakfast is quite possibly my favourite meal of the day. I love the fellowship of dinner, and the casual atmosphere of lunch, but there’s something about breakfast that is just really special. First of all, it can happen almost any time (considering when you wake up, and what you’re having) and it can be almost anything from cereal to leftover lasagne. I also think that breakfast says a lot about the upcoming day or the previous night.

There’s breakfast-for-dinner, always a comforting choice. There’s leftovers-for-breakfast, some of my personal favourites being pizza, lasagne and chocolate cake. Although, as a general rule anything Italian and anything dessert makes for a good breakfast. (this, of course, makes tiramisu an excellent choice). There is forbidden sugar cereal, paired with TVO on Saturday mornings, and there is classic peanut butter on toast.

Growing up there was the muffin-in-the-car breakfast that defined my hectic highschool days, happylaughing-french-toast, which my mom would make whenever my parent’s university friends stayed over, the pancakes-after-church that symbolized Sundays spent at home, the white-bread-with-real-butter-and-homemade-strawberry-jam that used to mean I had spent the night at my grandparent’s, and those mini cereal boxes of frosted flakes that my mom would only buy as a special treat for family road trips.

These days there’s stale-pizza-from-the-night-before (which we usually leave on the floor right in between our two beds so that neither of us have to move in order to obtain nourishment when we finally wake up), there’s Cora’s-with-the-girls, there’s nothing-but-coffee during my 8:30 class, and there’s a BLT on those glorious mornings when the caf has bacon.

Camp Ponacka in the Morning.

I’ve had some really great breakfasts in my life.

I can remember once when my family stayed at Mark and Carol’s house (Mark and my dad were roommates in university and so were Carol and my mom) Carol was making pancakes, but ran out of regular flour and had to use whole wheat. Turns out whole wheat pancakes taste amazing. Mark and Carol can always be counted on for great conversation, and I remember spending that morning hearing stories of the crazy things my parents did in their youth while drinking some really yummy juice (which Carol also made).

After prom I went to my cottage for the weekend. I remember early on that last morning, we took one look around the messy cottage and decided to take our (still warm) raspberry turnovers to the beach where we sat and enjoyed a quiet, relaxing meal, reminiscing about the whirlwind of events and the roller coaster ride of emotions of that weekend.

I remember breakfasts in Italy of crescents and coffee. Every morning, crescents and coffee… but they were the best crescents, dusted with icing sugar, and the richest coffee. I would never get tired of it.

When we were little we would make breakfast in bed for my parents. However, after a few mornings of carefully carrying cheerios and orange juice up the stairs it dawned upon us that they would probably prefer something more interesting. My approach to this was to turn the food into art, using danishes as flowers and cutting fruit, cheese and toast into all kinds of shapes to create my masterpieces. Spencer’s solution was to perform songs while my parents ate, and Alex’s approach was truly… well, it was something. He would drench rice crispies in chocolate sauce, then sprinkle on some blackberries and proudly present it to Mum and Dad. Seeking their shocked faces he would say “But you LOVE chocolate! and blackberries

love Breakfast. I love mornings. Quiet early mornings, rushed weekday mornings, soft summer mornings, magical snowday mornings, late sleepy mornings, loud Christmas mornings, happy mornings.

Algonquin in the Morning.

If, for some reason, you are still reading this particularly long post you are probably wondering what on earth the point of all this is. This week I had three very different breakfasts, which I would like to tell you about.

The first breakfast was Friday morning. After staying up very late, I woke up very early to finish an essay for my Shakespeare class, that I had left ’till the last minute. I sat, exhausted at a small table in the corner of the caf eating cornflakes, drinking coffee and feeling… tired, a little hopeless, and kind of stupid for letting this happen. I finished the essay just in time, but then had some seriously frustrating printer issues that resulted in me wasting both paper and time. Somehow I managed to make it to class just in time.

The second breakfast also happened on Friday morning (What’s better than breakfast? TWO breakfasts!). You see, I got to class (barely late) to see that the only free chair was in the very front row, and had to struggle past everyone else, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. Now, as much as I love good old Shakespeare, I was not in the mood to talk about King Lear for two hours. This wasn’t the day to be discussing gauged out eyes or lying sisters. I took my seat and prepared to suffer. But then, my professor said the most amazing thing. “Most of you look like you’ve been up all night trying to finish this paper, so why don’t we just cancel class today?”.

Most days I might be mildly excited by this, maybe even a little disappointed, but on this particular morning I was deliriously happy. I walked back to res with a triumphant smile on my face, planning to run straight into my friend Caileigh’s room to tell her about my good luck. However, my stomach rumbled, and I decided to stop at the caf first to grab a bagel. Stepping in the door, who did I see but Caileigh, sitting at a crowded table full of some of my favourite people I’ve met this year.

They were eating breakfast.

I told them my story and then loaded up my plate for a much happier breakfast. I was planning on using the cancelled class time to get some reading done, but ended up sitting at that table for almost two hours just talking. As much as I needed to catch up on some reading, relaxing with people I love was really the right thing for me to be doing. I needed some chill time.

The third breakfast was very different from the other two. It happened on Saturday. Madeleine was in Toronto for the weekend, so I had the room to myself. Most of the time, I love living in a place where I am always with friends. It certainly deprives you of alone time though. I woke up on Saturday feeling like I needed to have some time away from the world. I brought breakfast back to my room along with a copy of the latest IMPRINT (our student newspaper). I realized that I also use my computer way to much. So I closed my laptop, put on some Mumford and Sons and dove into my blissfuly private meal.


One Response to “Breakfast.”

  1. tobeabletofloat February 21, 2011 at 12:51 am #

    I love reading and connecting with your life in this simple way, Jasmine! I can imagine the amazing memories you must be having, and the beautiful people you are meeting, and the inspiring woman you are and are continuing to become! Your life is so precious and beautiful and I am so proud to know you.

    Thank you for taking the time to enjoy the simple beauties this world has to offer. The simple beauties have so much trump over the gross wars, floods, and oppression that are occurring in the world. They are hope. (:

    and as for me, i would do anything for a big fat plate of bacon for breakfast.


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