Pathetic Breakfast

Ran out of peanut butter yesterday.

Today's breakfast was two spinach and vegetable flour tortillas that my old roommate left behind when he moved last week. It's not clear how old they were, but in the absence of carbon dating technology, my mouth suggests between 50 and 60 thousand years. I sprinkled the last of the Sargento Taco cheese blend on each one, and topped one with the last drop of chipotle salsa, and the other with the last two jalapeno slices. My mouth is hot and my stomach is no longer digesting itself. Probably I will have deeper regrets in two to three hours.

If I don't get to a grocery store soon, breakfast tomorrow will probably be wet cardboard and hot sauce.

Russian "Breakfast"

Technically, this was a mid-afternoon picnic. But since it was the first thing we had eaten that day I think it qualifies as a breakfast, and you know what, goshdarnit, I want to write about it, and it’s my blog. So there.

After a couple weeks of Polish hotel breakfasts, we were glad to finally be on our own. We had gotten tipped off to a good market just one metro stop away from the lavish apartments we were staying in. We arrived at the market

















rolling about 8 deep, and immediately split up shopping duties into basic food groups. I took charge of cheeses, and bought a kind of creamy, mild swiss type thingy, and an object that looked like 100 thin strips of leather, braided together and tied in a knot. When we tried it later, it turned out to be a delicious salty, smoky sheep’s(?) cheese. Which just goes to prove my rule of thumb; when traveling, ALWAYS EAT THE THING THAT DOESN’T LOOK LIKE FOOD. It’s bound to either be disgusting or taste pretty good.

L. bought some Greek style yogurt, also on a tip, that turned out to be about 30% fat. Also a hit. We got some local honey from a lady who kept insisting we all try a little spoonful of each of her many kinds of honey. Both charming and delicious. Some dried sausages, of course, some bread, little cookies and cherries. And pickles. I think we each spent under 300 rubles (roughly ten bucks) for a feast that would wind up lasting us two days.

The plan was to head to the river, catch a ferry to Peterhof, (Peter the Great’s summer getaway on the Gulf of Finland), walk around a little amongst the opulent fountains, and find a little picnic spot.

Well, after getting losing half the group, realizing we didn’t have any silverware, and eating half the smoked leather cheese, we got on the boat. That’s where we first noticed that anything sort of touristy in St, Petersburg has two prices; one for Russians, and one about ten times that amount for foreigners. Not having even the faintest hope of scamming the system, we reluctantly paid the 400 rubles. The ride was lovely, especially the approach to the palace, its golden roof glistening in the sun. The ferry deposits you on a little dock, where you are given two options, pay 300 rubles (50 rubles Russian price) to get into the gardens, or pay 400 rubles to turn around and go back. What happens if you don’t have any cash, I don’t know. Barnacle duty, I guess.

Well, we walked around a bit among the fountains





































































oops












Until we found a suitable picnic spot, not too flashy,



















and set up shop. What followed was a fifteen minute feeding frenzy of which I remember very little, only flailing arms, bodies circling the park bench on which we had laid our goods, and sausages being ripped apart with fingernails. Once we reached our gustatory orgasm, we descended gently into the arms of cherries with incredibly fatty yogurt. My favorite thing was to take two cherries (preferably joined) and dip one in the yogurt, one in the honey, and place them simultaneously in my mouth.


I was roundly mocked for this.


But I am not ashamed.

Polish Hotel Breakfast

Based on a survey of upwards of two (okay, three, actually, if you must know) different breakfasts, a sort of “industry standard” seemed to emerge. Wet eggs in an unwarmed warming pan, some uncomfortable looking hot dogs, good bread, totally decent cheese and salami, pickles, tomatoes and cucumbers, maybe a radish, served with choice of Nescafe or Lipton, and assorted crappy juices. Then there are usually a few “variable items.” At the Hotel Katowice (God forgive the sinners who designed, built, currently staff, and hesitate to destroy it) this meant cat food floating in what S. says I generously called “aspic,” and eggs slathered in mayonnaise. The eggs were pretty good, I thought, but the cat food aspic thing was absolutely revolting. The gelatinous texture failed to distract the mouth from the taste of offal within. At the Royal Hotel in Krakow there was a boiled vegetables and mayonnaise salad , a fairly common Polish dish (I go nuts for this stuff, have ever since I was a child; the pattern that seems to be emerging here is that I love mayonnaise). Thinking back to last year, this standard seemed to apply in Romania as well, where the “variable item” at the Hotel Agape in Cluj-Napoca was a Greek salad with the worst of all possible “feta” cheeses. In fact, it was only in the context of the salad that I would have thought to guess it was feta they were shooting for. Taken alone, I would have guessed “salty white cardboard.” Corn flakes and/or muesli are always provided as an “out” for the cowardly or nutritionally inclined.

vacation!

In response to anxiety over the long time between blog posts, I must inform you, dear reader, that I am on sabbatical in Eastern Europe. Rest assured, I am collecting stories and images, and will begin backfilling upon my return on July 21st. In the mean time, please enjoy the new user profile photo.

Mediterranean Breakfast

Sometimes our actions are born of our discontent; hunger drives us out into the world in search of nourishment. Thirst drives us out in search of the oasis. Loneliness drives us into the arms of others. Not having soaked the sun-dried tomatoes overnight before making an omelette makes us want to soak sun-dried tomatoes for some other purpose.

I remembered I had a can of chickpeas in the cupboard (and Yes, I have tried soaking dried chickpeas, but I've found that, even if I soak them overnight, the ensuing "homemade hummus farts" are twice as deadly with dried). Luckily, I also had a box of Near East falafel mix and some flatbread. Tomorrow's breakfast was really shaping up!

My favorite thing to do with sun-dried tomato hummus is to add lemon and dill. Unfortunately, I didn't have dill or the inclination to go get it. I did have some saffron left over from a trip to Hungary a couple months back, which I thought would go nicely. Now, this saffron available in Budapest comes in big bags and is super cheap, but it's not the same as tiny threads that you may have in your supermarket for absolutely insane prices. It does color food quite nicely, but you have to get a little heavy with it to get even a hint of the aroma of better saffron.

So, in the food processor I started with
1 Tablespoon Tahini (storebought this time, but homemade Tahini is pretty easy and delicious)
2 garlic cloves, crushed
2 dried chili peppers
1 tablespoon cheap Hungarian saffron
1 tablespoon lemon juice

Processed until it formed a paste, then added
1 can chickpeas, drained and liquid reserved.

Processed again, then
Ran the food processor, slowly drizzling about a half cup of olive oil in through the pusher hole thingy as it ran, and a couple tablespoons of the reserved chickpea water.

And then we had...


Not bad! I had added a little too much chickpea liquid, making it a little too runny, but a night in the refrigerator pretty much firmed it up.

The next morning
Breakfast was pretty quick to put together. We just had to soak the falafel mixture for ten minutes and then shape it into balls, make a smoothie (banana pineapple),




and fry the falafel.





And this was the finished plate!

A confession.

Okay readers, it's Truth Time.

I don't make breakfast every day. In fact, most days I don't make breakfast. If you're wondering what I do on those days, well, I'm getting there.

Sometimes I really pull myself together, and have a bowl of cereal.

But most times... I'll just... have a little...












































Sometimes, if I've got it together, I'll spread it on bread.
Sometimes, it's just a spoon.
And then there's the days when it gets a little rough.
I'll just...

Brooklyn Breakfast

Brooklyn Breakfast
Walking through the Prospect Park farmer’s market Saturday afternoon (even after all that food) I was inspired to make an old standard for Sunday morning breakfast. It was time for Stinky Sandwiches!

I did all my shopping right there, I just needed some bread (organic seven-grain or something), Apples (Organic Fuji this time, maybe something a touch more tart next time, like a Pink Lady?), honey (the waxy looking totally raw semi-local kind [which was really good, but I always feel let down by honey now, nothing compares to Francois’ grandfathers’ honey from France, [which tastes like a childhood in a beautiful place, in a field with many yellow flowers] or even the other farmer’s market honey there, which often tasted like the flowers right there in the hillsides), and most importantly, some cheese.

The Cheese
I saw that the good people of Cato Corner Farms in Vermont were closing up shop right as Ruby and I wandered in to the market, so I jumped over there as quickly as I could, hoping to get a half pound of Hooligan (if you ever stop by that market, check this stuff out). Unfortunately they were out of it, but they did have some of their Fromage d’Or, Hooligan's stinkier uncle.

This stuff is intense. After handling it, and washing my hands several times, my fingers smelled like toe jam for hours. Really, at first you don't want to get near this washed rind cow's milk monster, but once you get it past your nose (or learn to love these pungent aromas) you are rewarded by a sweet, creamy, lightly herbal bonanza of delight.

The Sandwich
Two slices of organic 7-grain bread, one side spread with honey, one side spread with strong dijonnaise
Thin slices of apple (one layer)
Thin slices of sweet sopressatta
A couple chunks of a soft, creamy stinky cheese (in this case, Cato Corner's Fromage d'Or)
Assemble. Eat!

Later on, we...
were going to see "Up" in the theatres. I packed some sandwiches (bagged, wrapped in foil and bagged again) to make a picnic, but SLUG was a half an hour late so we smuggled them into the movie. As the lights went down, I quietly unwrapped layer after layer, as the sweet stink wafted out into the theatre. We ate them, giggling as our neighbors wondered at the source of the delightful/horrifying aroma.