Originally published on May 15, 2005 on Saucymag.com.

My love affair with unusual breakfast foods began at age nine. My dad and I had been stocking up on provisions in a small market near Carmel before departing on an extremely ill-advised RV trip up California's Highway 1. As we approached the junk food aisle, our shopping cart began shaking violently.

"Look out, Cindy! An earthquake! All the candy's falling into our cart! These Reese's Peanut Butter Cups and M&M's are flying everywhere and I can't stop them!"

Gape-mouthed, I watched as my father continued jostling the cart with one arm while purposefully sweeping bags of chocolate miniatures and cheese-filled pretzels off the shelves with the other. The epicenter of this highly unnatural disaster appeared to be limited to the market's candy and snack sections, and soon Pringles, pretzels and giant packets of Skittles had formed a small mountain before me.

After the tremors ceased, we headed towards the checkout stand. I worriedly noticed that we hadn't picked out any cereal for the road. I was accustomed to highly structured, joyless daily rations of raisin bran and Wheaties at my mother's table, and I wasn't sure what my dad had planned for our solo trip together. But I vowed to keep my mouth shut, fearful that the slightest peep would bring him back to his responsible-parent senses and end the unexpected shower of sugar and trans fats. After a childhood spent weeping into bowls of lima beans and Cream of Wheat, I wasn't about to compromise this one and only shot at unrestrained junk food gorging, even if it meant going without breakfast.

What I didn't understand was that all the candy and chips would become our breakfast. The next morning, Dad and I greeted the dawn of our first (and last) road trip by tossing back handfuls of peanut M&Ms, Fritos and Corn Nuts in our pajamas. After spending a few happy minutes gnawing on sinewy strips of beef jerky, we concluded our repast with slugs of Dr. Pepper straight out of the two-liter bottle.

I've never looked back.

By lifting Mom's draconian sugar sanctions, my dad taught me that with an open mind, any food can become fair game for breakfast consumption. This is not to say that I wake up and pig out on junk food every morning. On the contrary, I might dine on a doggy bag of chicken roasted with lemon, rosemary and garlic, or a few forkfuls of Greek salad. Broccoli and tofu stir-fry? Check. Smoked ribs dipped in barbecue sauce? Check again. I'm still in the throes of a hoagie phase (ham or turkey with Swiss and spicy German mustard, if you please), but chicken soup, BLTs and leftover maki are also grand ways to start the day.

I assert that one should not have to wait until afternoon to sample from the world's vast and glorious palette of desserts. Warm apple pie is a fine morning option, but somewhat obvious. Take it up a notch and try a slice of key lime (the citrus flavor can be very refreshing in lieu of orange juice), or a wedge of raspberry cheesecake. Nibble on a few ginger-molasses cookies or a fruit popsicle, and you're approaching health food territory. Sort of.

Some people find the prospect of downing a carton of pork potstickers before the sun has risen to be… well, kind of gross. Nauseated naysayers, I ask you to take a cold, hard look at your own breakfast menus. Nutritionally, the oatmeal cookie and that supposedly virtuous bowl of granola are closer cousins that we might wish to admit. To order a normal burrito at 9 a.m. toes the line of acceptability, but fold in a few scrambled eggs and it becomes an entirely apropos breakfast burrito. Why is it socially acceptable to arrive at work armed with a double tall latte and a fistful of coffee cake each morning, but to nibble on that leftover German chocolate cake in the break room before the early meeting is to inspire the mockery of one's colleagues? Who gave muffins the green light, while cupcakes remain saddled with the stigma of decadence? Where do hash browns end and French fries begin?

Clearly, the standards that define the "appropriate" American breakfast have little to do with health, and quite a bit to do with savvy marketing. In acknowledgement of this fact, I propose that we fight to eliminate the petty and arbitrary distinctions that prevent us from enjoying a full spectrum of culinary choices each morning. Join me in dreaming of the day when we can walk into a restaurant and order the Cobb salad or the black bean burger before eleven o'clock lunch service begins. Imagine a time when we are no longer swayed by guilt-inducing advertisements bleating about the benefits of nutritionally bankrupt cereals or, god forbid, drinkable yogurt. Meal distinctions will soon vanish, and in their place will emerge a staggering array of socially-acceptable options available for savoring at any time of day. Let diversity reign!

Unless, of course, it means that we'll have to start eating bacon and eggs for dinner. That's just plain sick.

Categories: Essay
May 30, 2005