What Do I Really Eat?

Perhaps this month you have been inspired to make breakfast a thing of beauty. Perhaps you are exhausted by my regaling you about the wonders of grilled bread, fluffy waffles, or oatmeal, a new way. Perhaps you are asking yourself: All of these recipes are nice and all, but does Adrienne really eat like this every day? And the answer, my friends is...of course not.

I, like many people, get fixated on foods. And it seems that the one area where this is most apparent is breakfast. For the quick, grab-it-and-go, sort of breakfast I have my standards: a sourdough English muffin with butter and just a smattering of raspberry jam; thinly sliced, German brown bread with hazelnuts and five grains, that stays with you well past lunch time; a bowl of Rice Krispies with cold milk splashed in and sliced strawberries. These are nothing too special, but they are foods that I have come to rely on and look forward to each night as I shut off my light and curl into the fetal position.

And the latest fixation is a little something that I like to call the Reese's toast. As you may remember I have no compunction about snacking on a little something sweet first thing in the morning. And sweet this toast is. White sandwich bread is what I have found to be the ideal toasting medium. Bland, fine-grained, and it has the ability to get perfectly toasted-- crisp, and light brown outside, with a soft, chewy texture inside. Then I glide on a bit of smooth peanut butter, careful to leave not a morsel of bread naked. Finally a bit of Nutella, that glorious chocolate-hazelnut spread gets gooped on top of the peanut butter.

Decadent and indulgent? Yes. But my breakfast most days in September too. With a steaming cup of coffee, not too sweet (I do have my principles), and a piece of sliced fruit, that's what I have been eating. So...at the end of this month of breakfasts, I ask you, what have you been eating this month?

Hello and Goodbye

The berries are gone. At least the good ones are. They’ve rolled up their welcome mats and bid the berry-loving world adieu. It seems like months ago those final rosey apricots, their supple skin veritably bursting with juice, said farewell. Of course, there are those final hanger-ons, the colonels of summer stone fruit: the random plums, the sweet Georgia peaches, and the nectarines—firm, but still holding on.

But these fruits are having to share space in the market. Hold on—fall fruit is coming! Apples so crunchy and tart, their skin so shiny, it almost reflects that the final days of Indian summer fruit are rolling in. Pears, with their buttery, sweet taste, and sumptuous physique are earning their way onto the market shelf, making company with those stone fruits.

For only a few short weeks do we have these two emblems of their respective seasons together. That means we have a little amount of time to cook with them. You can make a plum and apple crisp, or a pear and nectarine cobbler. There is always the peach and apple pie, syrupy sweet from the peaches, yet with amazing body from the apples. But this is breakfast month, and as much as I love fruit-laden desserts for breakfast, this time I wanted to make something a little more proper for the first meal of the day.

Baked fruit seemed like the ideal solution, simple, ever so slightly sweet, and perfect with Greek yoghurt. My combination of fruit were fist-sized, thin skinned peaches, and diminutive Fiorelli pears. I made a simple syrup of one-half cup water, one-half cup sugar, the juice and zest of one lemon, and a vanilla bean, split and scraped. Put the mixture on the stove, just until the sugar dissolves. Then into baking pan the syrup goes, along with three pears, and three peaches, cut in half. The fruit bakes at 400 degrees, cut side up, for 30 minutes. Make sure to baste the fruit frequently, you want the finished product to be moist, and flavorful.

And flavorful they were. The pears were tender, and spoonable; the peaches were meltingly soft, and vanilla-scented. And with the yoghurt, cool and slightly tart, the fruit was the perfect combination—good for you, but not too good. A breakfast like this emboldened me, and made me say, “Come on fall, bring it on!”

Green Eggs and Ham

I would not, could not, in a box.
I could not, would not, with a fox.
I will not eat them with a mouse.
I will not eat them in a house.
I will not eat them here or there.
I will not eat them anywhere.
I do not eat green eggs and ham.
I do not like them, Sam-I-am.

Perhaps Sam's curmudgeonly friend had not tried these green eggs and ham:

You can pile just about anything on top of grilled, rustic style bread, and it would be good. I don't know about having rodents as your dining companion, but a delicious breakfast can be made. I glided on a bit of bright green pesto that acted as the glue for a morning-time, open-faced sandwich. Next, some thinly sliced, still-summery tomatoes, then a beautiful poached egg simply awaiting a puncture.

The piece de resistance, the ham, or in this case prosciutto, crisply fried (laid in a dry, non stick skillet until the fat becomes smoldering), and we're almost there. Lastly a few shaving of salty, pungent, Parmesan cheese, and the sandwich is assembled. So delightful, it might even make you say:

So I will eat them in a box.
And I will eat them with a fox.
And I will eat them in a house.
And I will eat them with a mouse.

And I will eat them here and there.
Say! I will eat them ANYWHERE!
I do so like green eggs and ham!
Thank you! Thank you, Sam-I-am!

When I was learning to read, I remember this beloved book. Not really liking eggs, green or otherwise, I empathized with Sam's desperate friend. But now, I have to say, I love a gooshy poached egg as much as the next gal. And prepared like this, I have to say: Who doesn't love Green Eggs and Ham?

Fishing for Donuts

Donuts and a cuppa joe. As American as apple pie, a juicy hamburger, or a skinny hot dog. Glazed, chocolate frosted, jelly-filled, raised or cake, have your pick. Some people dunk 'em in their breakfast-time coffee, then quickly take a bite, careful not to allow the donut to get too soggy in their hot morning brew. Other people are purists, munching on the gooey sweetness anytime of the day, but completely unsullied.

On Saturday mornings, when I was young, my dad used to take me fishing off of the pier in Half Moon Bay, CA. Dad was a not an outdoors man. He was not even an organized sports man. He was a business man. Not the suit-and-tie sort, but still the sort that awoke at the crack of dawn to get to the office early before anyone else had really started their day. But sometimes, he would awake early on a Saturday morning, his body still on the Monday thru Friday clock, venture into my room, and give me a nudge. Then I knew.

I would quickly dress as the sun was creeping over the driveway. We grabbed the fishing poles, dangling off the wall in the garage, taunting us as to what we would catch that day. I would hop into the car next to dad, slowly we would pull out of the driveway; not quite ready to head to the pier. I knew where we were going first.

Minutes later we would pull into Happy Donuts. It never really mattered what time you entered the parking lot: it was always full of people. I would get in line, dreaming of which sugary treats I would bring to the pier, and then return to the car, hot cocoa in one hand, a sack of donuts in the other. My dad and I never really caught anything other than mudsuckers on those Saturday morning sojourns. We never brought a passel of fresh fish home to fry in lots of butter. We just talked...and ate donuts.

It seems that donuts may never be as sweet to me as those memories. Don't get me wrong, I still love a donut, piping hot, straight from the grease. But in this day in age, when one worries about trans-fats, saturated fats, fatty fats, I could use a donut that was... well, a little bit lighter.

Enter: baked donuts. The traditional donut's svelte sister. Yeasted, so they're light and pillow soft, made in about two hours, and baked until they are golden brown, these donuts really are superb. And yes, I still rolled them in powdered sugar, or cinnamon-sugar, I wouldn't want to get too healthy on you. These donuts are a breakfast time treat, perfect with a cup of coffee. If you would like the recipe for these baked donuts, it's on the Daily Specials page.

I Accept Your Challenge!

A commenter from last week had this to say, "Let's see a substitute for the egg-McMuffin (but we all know nothing beats the real thing!)." It seems that many people have a soft spot for that ubiquitous breakfast sandwich, the McMuffin. I can't say that it was a part of my childhood, never having even tasted the bizarre egg patty until just a few years ago.

But I can understand the mystique. There is just something so pleasing about having your first meal of the day being hand-held, self-contained, and probably given to you by a person wearing a paper hat behind a plexiglass window. An entire meal, nestled cozily in a muffin or biscuit, waiting to be gobbled up by morning time diners-- now that's good eatin'. But here in New York City, a city bustling with pedestrians, subways, and a sea of yellow taxi cabs, the drive-thru is a bit of a moot point. But the breakfast sandwich is still served right up at my house.

Rolling out of bed on Sunday morning, and feeling a bit peckish, I made a sandwich that was far from a McMuffin. Maybe my sandwich could be considered a second cousin once removed to the fabled original. The haute McMuffin, if you will. Let's talk about just what was in this scrumptious Sunday morning concoction.

First I scrambled some eggs, slowly over low heat, creating small curds. When the eggs were just about set, I turned off the heat, and leaving the eggs in the pan, and sprinkled some creamy gorgonzola cheese over the eggs. I toasted an English muffin until crisp and golden brown. Then taking it from the toaster I spread on a thin layer of rich honey. Some thin slices of pear were piled on next, followed by a grinding of cracked black pepper. Finally the eggs were piled on top, the gorgozola by now melting to an oozy finish. I capped the creation with the other half of the muffin, and took a bite.

Far from what you'd get from the drive-thru, though I would have to say, perfect nonetheless.

Oatmeal, Step Aside!

When my in-laws first got married, my mother-in-law, ever the good 1960s wife, prepared a bowl of globby oatmeal for the two of them every morning. Little did she know that her husband actually disliked oatmeal, almost as much as she did. Both ate their oatmeal every morning thinking that the other one liked it, until one day the truth came out and, much to their mutual relief, ne'er a bowl of oatmeal was to be seen on their table again.

But, I like oatmeal. The steam rising from the bowl emitting a wholesome, nutty fragrance first thing in the morning can be both comforting and restorative. But you know what might be even better than hot oatmeal? Well, not necessarily better, just altogether different...and wonderful-- bircher muesli.

Now I know muesli. In fact I went through a brief, albeit red-hot desire for Familia Muesli in high school. Yes, I could not get enough of that granola-like cereal of wheat germ and oats, nuts and dried fruit. I needed my morning fix of that crunchy mix -- Familia became like my crack cocaine (and I guess one could have a slightly more dangerous fixation like, well-- crack). But perhaps my jaw actually grew tired of the constant chewing because, eventually, I moved on.

When I saw the recipe for the bircher sort of muesli in my breakfast cookbook (which will be making several appearances in the coming weeks), it sounded delicious and satisfying. This muesli has a little bit of everything, a tart apple for crunch, a bit of cream for richness, and a small amount of oatmeal for body. But this isn't any old ordinary oatmeal. You take the oats and soak them in water overnight. They lose their brittle texture and assume a creamy, pleasingly lumpy form. And, I felt free to consume as much bircher muesli as I wanted, I knew my jaws could handle it.

If you would like the recipe for bircher muesli, it's on the Daily Specials page. With all of the stunning, boogley-eyed figs in season, I adorned my muesli with them, but feel free to substitute berries or even raisins as it says in the recipe.

I'll Raise You a Waffle

September has always seemed like a month filled with promise and new beginnings. I guess it goes back to my first days of elementary school and wondering who my teacher would be, if my best friend would be in my homeroom class, and deciding which new fall outfit I would wear on my very first day back at school. Back then summer seemed so endless, sleep-away camp a distant memory. Warm July days spent lounging near the swimming pool at my grandma's condominium complex were a pleasant diversion from school, but I was ready for all that the school year had to hold. I was ready to read Where the Red Fern Grows, ready to learn long division.

So in honor of September, a New Year of sorts, I've decided this month will be all about breakfast, that first meal of the day, a meal that welcomes the prospect of new beginnings. I have always been a breakfast eater, although I must say that it is only in recent years that I have become a more adventurous morningtime diner. My early years were spent with bowl, a spoon, and a large box of breakfast cereal. I eventually branched out-- the griddle became a friend as I consumed piles of pancakes, and tender-crisp, cinnamon-scented French toast. But never did I allow an egg to cross my lips. They were too rubbery, to sulfuric...but I have seen the error of my immature ways. Now I am an equal-opportunity breakfast eater and lover.

But in order to kick this month off right, I give you an old classic. What could be better than the waffle? Well, I'll tell you-- the raised waffle. Marion Cunningham's recipe from Fannie Farmer, or The Breakfast Book, for crisp, ethereal, downright scrumptious waffles. Who knew that the addition of yeast would be so morning-changing?

They might look like the ordinary, but let me assure you, this is no "Leggo my Eggo." One taste of these stellar waffles , and you will gladly leggo, you may even throw every other sort of waffle right out with them. I have tried many waffles, continually searching for just the right combination of lightness, crispness, and body. And these waffles stayed crisp as I ate them, allowing the sweet maple syrup to pool in the waffle squares, not to simply soak in, creating a floppy confection.

These waffles tasted like one giant cake (plain) ice cream cone, an attribute that couldn't have made me any happier. September is off to a good start, so if you would like the recipe for these raised waffles, it's on the Daily Specials page.