Breakfast: A Three Volume Novel Not To Be Spoken of Slightingly

All happiness depends on a leisurely breakfast.

John Gunther

Primo

My French press and I have become good friends as of late. With the Man at work most mornings (including this one), it's a bit ridiculous to make a entire pot, especially when I don't even have time to drink more than a small cup. Luckily for me, my French press is a miniature, so I fill it up the whole way, pour a full cup of coffee and feel like I'm drinking more than I really am, which makes me a happy woman. Finding decaf Cafe Bustelo really saved my life with this pregnancy and period of breast-feeding. It's unbelievable how much less whining I do now that I have coffee that actually tastes like coffee and not some knock-off sludge. In fact, Cafe Bustelo should be paying me for how often I promote their coffee.

Secondo

I think I've begun using baking as a creative outlet (see Cinnamon Bread post...). While this may be good for my sanity, I'm not so sure it's a positive for my waistline. Friday I decided to make a batch of cinnamon rolls from scratch with the help of my trusty sidekick, Debbie "The Debs" Shhhkibeckery (names have been changed for the protection of the innocent). We used the Cinnabon cinnamon roll recipe my sister used to make at the dorm in high school. They were amazing beyond belief. When the Man got home, he inspected the cinnamon rolls and then asked me accusingly (and with much disappointment) why I'd put raisins in them. I explained that the dark globs he had mistaken for raisins were in fact luscious oozings of cinnamon sugar. That's when he got really excited. Leftovers comprised breakfast this morning. Along with Cafe Bustelo. Naturally. See photographic evidence above.

Terzo

I'm a believer in breakfast. Not because it is necessarily the healthy start to my day that I require (I doubt the amount of sugar I ingested into my system this morning qualifies as healthy), but because it makes me happy. And why not start the day right, eh?