When I was a kid, I hated breakfast. Clearly, I had issues.
I liked some cereals but without milk. And by some cereals, I mean those of the sugary toxic persuasion, mainly the attempts of candy companies to clamber onto the kiddie-level shelves of the cereal aisle. If milk made it into my bowl, with say, Cheerios, they were accompanied by an equal pairing of sugar, which I meticulously scraped from the bottom of the bowl with every spoonful. My irrational father commanded that we not let perfectly good milk go to waste and thus enforced a strict protocol of slurping down the remaining cereal milk, with its sickly color and floating particles of soggy Froot Loops. (Thus, the dry cereal.) Yogurt was weird. (But chocolate pudding was a go.) Pop Tarts made the list, but only if they weren’t toasted and I was permitted to leave the crusts.
And while most of the population perked at the special-occasion offering of homemade pancakes or French toast, I replied with a grimace, much to my poor mother’s dismay. Years later, I am much wiser and realize that this is ridiculous.
Bahhh, two bacon spinach salads, one crustless quiche and an All-American breakfast later, and what do we have? MORE bacon in my fridge. Sigh.
I’ve been sick of ingredients before, but it’s usually because I’m bored with it. Not because it’s delicious and unhealthy as hell. So what’s a girl who likes to cook for her boy to do?
Well, I reckon she makes him some grits with bacon.
Grits are easy shmeazy. I didn’t actually have them growing up, despite being a Texas child. I can only guess that’s because I’m a displaced Iowan, or at least my parents are. But thanks to a late night adventure at Waffle House that led to an order of cheesy grits (aka a small bowl of grits with a slice of American cheese on top) to accompany my chocolate-chip waffle, I became a fan of the stuff.
First I fell into the quick fix – one-serving packets of instant grits, that is – and ate them simply, with a quick zap in the microwave, a little butter and a dash of salt and pepper, before heading to class. Nothing special, just a means for appeasing a whiny stomach.
Then I met Mr. Joshua White. With family deeply rooted in the heart of New Orleans, where the grits flow mightily, he is no stranger to grits. (Though his preference for grits with barbecue sauce and hard-boiled eggs remains in question.)
Oh, man. Can you say hiatus? It’s been a busy month and admittedly diligence in both work and play have interfered with my blogging. But I’m back. And like a heart attack, so is that leftover bacon I promised.
Now, I’m behind, I know, I know. I made the following one-dish meal a month ago, and while the sharing may have come to you belatedly, the experience was one of my best substitution, fridge-clean-out successes to date. There were moments I thought I’d met my match, but I’m pleased to tell you the adventure has a delicious, eggy end.
I never buy bacon. As a card-carrying gym member who has yet to step one sneakered foot inside my apartment complex’s rec center, I figure it’s just one of those ingredients I can benefit from leaving off the grocery list. However, exceptions are sometimes made. (Double Stuf Oreos are sometimes bought.) Hating to let potentially delicious things go to waste, I figured having America’s favorite breakfast-time artery clogger in the fridge was a great excuse to finally try my hand at one of my faves: QUICHE.
I love eggs. (When I was a kid, I wasn’t much of a fan, but that’s another story for another post.) Anyway, I love ’em in nearly every form and fashion that I’ve crossed forks with, and a dish that places eggs at the forefront is okay in my book any day.