Breakfast Post Turns Nostalgic Quick
March 17, 2014 § Leave a comment
Hypothetical scenario: Elizabeth goes Vegan. Monday morning reality: Liz wakes up. Boils water for tea & lemon. Vegan streak strong. Opens refrigerator. Locks eyes with a half-dozen, brown, beautifully speckled eggs. Goat cheese sits nearby. You get where I’m headed? Two words: French toast. I’m perfectly aware that I could make such toast using all vegan ingredients (that is one of the better ways to use egg substitute, I imagine?), only I’m afraid that I’m next in line for the Dairy Queen crown.
I’m fine avoiding milk, but Daiya cheese can only take a girl’s taste buds so far. Of course I’d like to exercise control and adhere to a strictly vegan diet (I work in an establishment where nothing has ever been close to an animal), but it’s just the forever-longing-to-be-a-farm-girl in me that finds solace when dairy is on the table. It’s definitely the Fern Arable in me who doesn’t understand the sight of a man taking an ax out to the yard. So yeah, I will never again eat pork, red meat, or chicken…but I want all of the eggs and cheese. All of it. Sigh. I may live in a city on an Atlantic peninsula, but when I’m settled among wildflowers and breakfast is before me—I feel quite distant from a city whose promotional meal is shrimp and grits. I feels miles and miles away.
This morning, breakfast was rye bread coated in eggs and cinnamon, topped with goat cheese, blackberry jam, some maple syrup, and served with half of a peach. I should mention there was also a close-to-perfect latte and some ginger&beet juice that I made over the weekend. It was divine.
Some days you wake up missing things, and that is just how it goes. Currently, I miss my grandmother’s excellent french toast at the cabin– made with love and raspberries my cousins and I pick with our growing hands each summer. I miss all the chocolate-dipped DQ cones I’ve shared with my brothers while passing through the Minnesota countryside on the way to said cabin. I always miss sitting at the kitchen table in a particular house in a Chicago suburb, watching my grandfather dunk ginger snaps into milk. I miss being tucked in bed, nearly asleep, until Danny comes in the room carrying a bowl of eggnog ice cream and two spoons. I think you get the picture. I love the people in my life. I love the treats I’ve shared with them. To chose a vegan diet would somehow make all of the above listings feel wrong…and I’m just not ready for that.