Hash browns, two veggie sausage links, and a glass of orange juice.
2 slices of whole wheat toast, a container of plain yogurt, a banana and a diet coke. That’s my big meal of the day, lunch & dinner is a can of slimfast. Yum, fake chocolatey goodness.
A piece of something I baked a month ago, and defrosted yesterday. It’s kind of between brioche and danish pastry, and it’s got apricots and cream cheese in it.
I’m drinking apple cider.
The is an unusually good, wholesome breakfast for me. Usually I have tea with sugar, and chocolate when I get to work.
The chicken lasagna with caramelized onions, pesto, and chicken sounds amazing! I want that for breakfast tomorrow.
Woke up on Saturday starving, but not feeling like making breakfast myself.
Now, normally I wouldn’t go near a Denny’s or any other chain restaurant, but I needed to go return my new printer cuz the damn thing was all flashy lights and no action and Denny’s was on the way.
The waitress came and took my order and gave me coffee. She brought the food and then, apparently, retired on full pension, bought an RV and left the state.
The food was worse than expected, and when I went to pay the bill, the cashier asked me with a chipper smile “And just how was everything this morning?”, but her eyes said “Oh god, is this all my life is ever going to amount to…?”
I replied, “So-so.”
“Oh,” says she. “Is there anything we can do to make it right?”, but her eyes said “Oh christ, another pain in the ass.”
“Well, the sausage was cold, the bacon was limp, and you’re really not all that busy in here”, I replied. “Does that help you any?”
Sez she: “Oh, you should have said something.” But her eyes said “Just shut up and go away.”
“Had I seen a server at any point during the meal, I quite possibly would have.”
“Well, next time we’ll pay for your coffee”, she proclaimed, but her eyes said “I wish you death, you complaining asshole, and how would you like to have to stand here and take crap from someone who expects a gourmet meal from a shithole restaurant for $10? I mean, come on, it’s a Denny’s, for cripe’s sake, it’s Saturday and I should be with my kids instead of having to come down here and feel humiliated because your fucking sausage was cold.”
So I smiled and said “Why, that would be fine. Thank you for the offer.” And I felt better for swallowing the obvious insulting remark that almost came to my lips.
It’s stories like that that make me so glad I have an borderline obsession with cooking for myself (and, for when I’m just feeling laxy, that I live within walking distance of 2 greasy spoons diners that would beat the pants off of a Denny’s any day of the week)
Oh, I made yeat risen waffle batter last night and broke out grandma’a GE waffle iron from the fifties this morn and had damn fine waffles with real maple syrup.
And a glass of OJ.
Tomorrow will probably be Multi-grin Cheerios, skim milk, and an earful of my NPR station begging for money.
Buckwheat. A lot of buckwheat.
And blackberry juice.
It was too early in the morning to remember… Chinese buns, congee, and milk?
A glass of prune juice, followed by a glass of Metamucil, followed by a small amount of apple cider vinegar in a glass of water.
In order:
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Orange juice.
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Semen (probably combined with traces of lubricant and lipstick).
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Paczki.
I think ReverseCowgirl’s comes pretty close.
I also had Paczki’s (two).
I washed them down with my usual coke instead of ReverseCowgirl’s more exotic choices.
Nobody else had Paczkis today?
Ok, so I guess the singular is paczek and the plural is paczki–with no terminal ‘s’.