44 replies to this topic

[BadRabbit]

Too bad there isn't a poll associated with this topic. I'll bet there are more "let's try some schinken and kase for breakfast today" people than "eggs and bacon this morning and every
morning for me" people.

It would be meaningless on this forum because of selection bias. The group is not a representative sample of the population at large when dealing with food.

[Holly Moore]

To supplement my earlier post - for me breakfast is a meal best consumed at a five star hotel dining room or a New England diner, but, at the minimum, eaten away from home.

[BadRabbit]

I think it really is a combination of things. A lot of people have been saying that they are not really able to do much that is complex or unfamiliar in the morning, so simple or rehearsed is key. Secondly, there is a lot less variety associated with breakfast foods than other meals (as a vast generalization) so we get much more used to those same few things. Then it turns into habit.

I would say the second part is likely a result of the initial tendency.

To others' points, if I wait until a couple of hours or so after waking, I can eat pretty much anything. Unfortunately, I'm one of those people who need to eat within an hour of waking. I wake up absolutely famished.

Edited by BadRabbit, 31 March 2011 - 11:50 AM.

[Darienne]

Adventurous eating at breakfast? No, thanks. Just sitting with someone eating Huevos Rancheros or even sausages gives me the willies.

Give me a couple of hours and then lay pretty much anything on me. (But never jellied meat stuff.)

[Mjx]

. . . .

Your point has nothing to do with the original discussion which was not about why breakfast foods are different in different cultures but why people are generally less adventurous at breakfast than they are at other meals.

Heh. I think those of us who replied before you edited to clarify understood the initial question a bit differently than you intended... I'm looking at my initial post, and it looks kind of off-base, although I could swear it made sense when I wrote it

I think stress levels may feed into breakfast conservatism.

I'm not a particularly adventurous person, possibly because my life tends to be way more exciting than I'd like, so to move into something approximating an adventurous mindset requires intellectual activity of the sort that I'm not usually up for, first thing in the morning: too many other decisions to deal with at that time, I'm not really even in the mood for food at all. My brain says 'Coffee', my gut says 'Yep', and that's pretty much it.
When I'm on holiday, though, and don't have to deal with anyone apart form my boyfriend, I'm capable of eating virtually anything I'd eat at any other time of the day (chili/bag of salty licorice wine gums/Jaegermeister and peanuts? no problem!)

[BadRabbit]

. . . .

Your point has nothing to do with the original discussion which was not about why breakfast foods are different in different cultures but why people are generally less adventurous at breakfast than they are at other meals.

Heh. I think those of us who replied before you edited to clarify understood the initial question a bit differently than you intended... I'm looking at my initial post, and it looks kind of off-base, although I could swear it made sense when I wrote it

Absolutely my initial post was confusing which is why I clarified. But the quote above was after I'd clarified to the other poster and he replied again along the same line.

[andiesenji]

I was born and raised in a family (extended) that held fast to the British tradition of a hearty breakfast which would overwhelm most people today.

My grandfather, his brothers and my uncles were all out of the house and working on the farm, starting about 4:00 A.M.
Around seven or so they came in for breakfast and they sat in the kitchen, around a huge table and had meats, eggs, biscuits and cornbread, potatoes, grits, porridge, grilled tomatoes and occasionally smoked fish. And strong tea, although some did take coffee.

Around eight, the women in the house, my great grandmother, my grandmother, my aunts and great aunts had breakfast in the "breakfast room" just off the kitchen so they wouldn't have to listen to the men talk about breeding horses and cows, the price of corn and oats and how they were going to clean the stumps from a new field.
On Sundays the men were expected to have their breakfast with the women.

So the cultural standards with which I grew up were those of English people who moved to and adopted some of the foods of the south and incorporated them into their own culture and passed it on.

When I first saw Gosford Park, I sat in the theater and watched the breakfast scene and it seemed so familiar to me that I remarked on it to my companion. The clothes were a decade or so prior to my experience but it was very close.

[Karri]

As always if you put it on a Gauss scale that measured cultural habits, or the general 'outgoingness' of people? Possibly daredevils who always need another rush of adrenaline; be it base jumping, or kiteboarding will try anything for breakfast?

Former: Would you most likely find a 15% bottom a 15% top and the general 70% in the middle? Thoughts?

I write like yoda, feverish.

edit: I was looking for this and this is also what was pointed to earlier, but in my understanding the paradigm has shifted from breakfast and lunch being the heaviest meals of the day. They still are in certain lines of work as was mentioned afore. But city-life, working in an office it would be quite redundant to pound five rashers of bacon and three eggs every morning so you could go sweat it out over Solitaire in the office?

Edited by Karri, 01 April 2011 - 01:22 PM.

[Wholemeal Crank]

Breakfast needs to be simple to prepare, easy on my morning-delicate stomach and eyes, and have enough solidity that I don't start chewing on the edge of my desk before lunch.

Some variation on cereal (hot or cold) or toast, on weekends occasionally pancakes or waffles; and milk or hot chocolate; and tea. On weekends, when it can be delayed an hour or two, I have time both to prepare, and be ready to eat, a larger feast.

One of the disappointments of my trip to Japan was that it was still so early when we finished our visit to the Tsukiji fish market, that I simply could not face sushi-for-breakfast. A bowl of udon noodles was as adventurous as I could be at 830 in the morning.

[Domen]

Being a devout breakfast eater, I really appreciate your topic.

I agree with many comments above that for many breakfast needs to be something 'non-brainy' - get up, pour and to go work.

However, what no one has mentioned is that there may be some specific reasons why we often choose 1. cereal 2. eggs - politico-economic ones.

We are all aware how cereal has become a staple on our morning tables. What was the name of the American guy who had to find an alternative market for corn (and cheap sugar)?..

I also wonder whether eggs are simply linked to the fact that in small holdings eggs are collected in the morning - and it's a very easy source of protein (although I'm sure you can run the same argument for certain veg too!).

Also, most people here seem to divide themselves either into adventurous morning eaters - fewer, or not. I am however a fairly repetitive breakfast eater - I like my eggs, bread, coffee, sometimes salami/ham, or cheese - BUT I do spend time and effort, pretty much daily, on planning my breakfast and then making it (for example, i would always make my eggs in different ways).

Sometimes the only reason to get out of bed is the thought of the breakfast to come. Surely I'm not lone in this??

[Laura415]

You are definitely not alone. I ate plenty of standard American breakfast food growing up. Cereal or oatmeal on weekdays and waffles/pancakes/eggs on weekends. However, when I got older, I found that I often felt like leftovers for breakfast and that has led me to eating any savory item in the fridge most mornings. I never eat it cold though. I also like to eat the comfort foods of other countries especially Asian for breakfast or brunch. Have to admit though that breakfast time, for me, can often be later morning edging towards lunchtime.

[Alchemist]

I wrote this a few years ago, but this thread made me think of it. I have had a couple of these breakfast experiences in my travels, and I am happy for every one of them.


THIS POST CONTAINS MATERIAL THAT SHOULD NOT BE CONSUMED BY THOSE WITH DELICATE SENSIBILITIES OR THE WEAK OF STOMACH

I was down in Mexico visiting a friend a couple of years ago. My, father, Tom, and my business partner, Jason, and I arrived in town mid afternoon, and were engulfed in the chaos of a street festival. A Ferris wheel spun haphazardly, as did a good number of town drunks. Every vendor stand was cranking a static radio station, a tuba driven polka like nightmare, "Pato" rap, or a street version of karaoke. Barkers tried to get us to play rigged games of chance, or buy real silver rings guaranteed to turn your finger gangrenous in three days. To escape the melee, we retreated to a roof top restaurant to await our friend and her boyfriend.

Really, there is a point to this story, I promise.

So they finally showed up, just in time to jump in on the third round of ice cold Bohimias, and wee drams of Havana Club 7yr. We chatted during a spectacular sunset, and through the violet hour. We got to discuss the local delicacies. I started to get a hankering for some tongue tacos. So we wove our way to the stall only to find it closed. Luckily there was a bar right there that served beer and Cuban rum...

The next morning at 8:--for the love of god, I think I am going to die--o'clock we met again. I’m now sure it was a conspiracy because I soon found myself separated from my father and Jason, being led further and further into the bazaar by my friend’s boyfriend. We finally got to a stall where there is a towering pile of goat’s heads. My poor rum ravaged stomach completed a move that would leave the Romanian gymnastics team with mouths agape and green with jealousy.

We sit down and I hear him order me a taco of tongue, one of eye, and one of brain, and a soup for himself. Did I mention it was Eight in the F*&king morning? I knew I was going on and on the night before about how much I liked tongue tacos, but not at eight in the F#!king morning, when I was not sure if I could get through a bowl of oatmeal.

The toothless Grandma grabs a goathead from the pile and an apocalyptical swarm of flies rises from the devils mountain of carnage. My stomach does something that Greg Louganis wished he could do, my eyes roll into the back of my head, and I hear from far away…”Quieres cervesa?”

Can it hurt? I mean really, what could possibly be the down side? I’m guessing that club soda with Peychaud’s bitters is not an option. “Simone, Guay. Nessisito una chela bein meurta!” He orders me a really cold beer, and chuckles as I turn the color of military hospital walls.

The goat head is now on the chopping block right in front of me, mercifully free of flies. It’s tongue sticks out to the left and its lifeless eyes, one of which will soon be in my mouth, stare at the fluttering tarp that is keeping the pounding sun off our necks. The temperature is starting to rise, adding to my need to look around and see if the name of the stall was “ABANDON ALL HOPE YE WHO ENTER HERE”.

The beer came, ice cold with rivulets of joy clinging to it’s outside. I put it to my forehead, bliss, then opened it and took a long pull hoping to beat back the idea of what I was about to eat.

I am not a picky eater. I will try almost anything, and the things I don’t like I will keep trying until I can, if not love them, at least appreciate the manner in which they are prepared.

So I nursed my beer as Toothless Grandma cuts out the tongue, slices it nice and thin and then tosses it on a grill behind her. With a spoon she pops an eyeball out, I closed my eyes and imagined it skittered across the cutting board. I don’t open my eyes until I hear the hiss of the sliced eyeball hits the grill. In retrospect I should have just kept my baby blues closed and concentrated on the Modelo bubbles that were quickly making me feel reptilian. A vast improvement from when I sat down believe you me.

The point of this story is just now coming.

I open my eyes and Toothless Grandma has a cleaver in hand, over her head and is about to strike a John Henry blow to the skull. I hate to admit it but I think I winced a little thinking it was my skull she was about to crack asunder. The cleaver came down with a mighty, sickening thud and bone chips flew in all directions. She gave the cleaver a wiggle and the top of the head opened as beautifully as a morning glory. Little dew drops of blood nestled in the matted hair mere centimeters from what I was about to eat. With the eyeball spoon (bad cross contamination if you ask me) she scoops out some brains and flops them on the grill.

A pile of fragrant, hand made tortillas is warming on the side of the flattop. With miraculous asbestos fingers she builds my three tacos, adding cilantro and onion on top.

They look really good, and they smell wonderful. I order another beer, its like 8:10 by now, and start heaping Salsa Roja on the tacos. My dining companion’s soup arrives. It’s gorgeous, a huge bowl full of corn, carrots, succulent chunks of goat, onion, and a sprinkling of cilantro on top. I am very, very jealous. What he has is the perfect thing for a hangover, and he isn’t hungover. Yet another example of living in a hostilely indifferent world.

My plan of attack is that of an eight year old faced with a plate of Brussels sprouts. I’m going to take a big bite, chew as little as possible and wash the offending matter down with a monstrous gulp of beer. I figure I can get through a taco in three bites. That means I only have nine bites to go. I can’t decide what to start with. Do I start with the tongue, which will be the easiest, or go for the brains and eye first to get it over with. Round Robin seems best, one bite of each, order a beer every 3 bites.

The tongue is great. Rich and meaty with explosions of fresh cilantro and onion going off in counterpoint. This isn’t going to be so bad I convince myself. Then on to eye that wasn’t NEARLY as bad as I thought it was going to be. I am starting to feel macho, with two beers under my belt and a Mexican truck drivers breakfast before me. Then the brains. For the love of all things holy, I can’t believe how revolting this is. The texture is all-wrong, and by that I mean there is NOTHING good about it. My eyes bulge a bit as I reach a trembling hand towards my beer. Toothless Grandma is watching me, so I do my best to smile. I’m sure it was a horrible grimace with cilantro and grey matter in my teeth. The beer washes down the bite with only a tiny shudder.

Once again I turn to my dining companion. He is almost done with his soup. Jealousy once again rears its ugly head. I am about to ask him a question when he bites down on something that makes him wince. Into his upturned palm he spits a jagged goats tooth, brown around the edges, and worn unevenly from a lifetime of eating refuse, street jetsom, and garbage from big stinking piles in allys in the unsavory part of town. I gag, my insides roiling like an angry sea. I cannot get the crunching sound of my friend biting down on that tooth, and then him involuntarily swallowing plaque-riddled flecks of enamel. It takes all my will power to force down the rising gorge, and not projectile vomit unchewed chuncks of eye and brain under the table. I take a few deep breaths and thank god for my lovely plate of tacos.

[Darienne]

That was one fascinating story.

[Wholemeal Crank]

Fortunately I read that at the end of that day, while drinking a very mellow and relaxing tea, and can contemplate the horror from a position of gastroenterological solidity.

Thank you for sharing!

(and wondering about the sound of a sizzling eyeball)

[Dakki]

Yeah, okay. In the interest of balancing out Alchemist's story~

I'm not a morning person. I'm the opposite of a morning person. In fact, as posited in another thread, my usual breakfast is coffee and a cigarette, and when I'm in a hurry, I'll skip the damn coffee.

The exception to my anti-breakfast prejudice is the business trip hotel breakfast. Meetings with a regular out of town client require my presence at 10 AM. I awake at 4 AM, with 3 hours of sleep, shower and dress at God's will and hit the road before 5, avoiding traffic. Arrive at the town my client is located at by 8, again avoiding the early-morning semis, hit the hotel restaurant. Buffet "international breakfast" with made-to-order omelettes (much better than I can make myself, I'm ashamed to say) goes for 70 MXP (~5-6 USD) and includes perfectly acceptable "international" fare: Fresh fruit, french toast, bacon, breakfast sausage and so on.

Let's skip that.

The -real- fare is the regional specialties: succulent carnitas, guisos and plain (unsauced, crisp from the butcher's) chicharron and fresh from the comal tortillas served with a variety of salsas, ranging from the pleasingly sharp to the mouth-puckering sour to the absurdly hot, washed down with a bottomless pot of pretty darn good coffee.

The relevance to the thread? You have to give the stomach some time to wake up, I think.