It is unfathomable to me that one can bear the deprivation of breakfast.  And yet I have known those who do. Many – including historically my own dear mother – routinely start their day with nothing but a cup of black coffee.  The sparsity of the routine perhaps speaks to indulgence the prior evening. On the other hand, many who survive without breakfast are notably thinner than others who do not. This feature identifies what to me is an unexplained restraint when it comes to food.  I enjoy eating. A good meal is for me the height of success – reflecting nature’s unbridled relationship with appetite. It is a highly sensual process as significant as that of a former hunter (and here I am going back millennia to the origin of the species).

The importance of any meal is not to be overlooked.  Breakfast – although it hasn’t the dignity of an evening meal – captures the British country house tradition of singularity and removal from sociability. Although there may be six at table, everyone is on their own. Each is at liberty to command precisely what he wishes to devour.  Eggs may be boiled, poached, fried or scrambled; toast, dry or buttered; coffee, with or without; fruit, peeled or whole; porridge, yes or no; sweets or not. The possibilities are endless – a rarity commonly achieved at hotel buffet models, while all the while preserving the individual nature of the experience.

We have all heard the alleged importance of starting the day with a good breakfast. It is an adage that practically falls on deaf ears for those of us long convinced of its meaning. Breakfast for me is an appetite not a social function although strangely my prep school breakfast in the Grand Hall at a large board table with other students was summarily echoed during my legal career at the Superior Restaurant in a booth with local businessmen. Both experiences had the same repeated nature, day after day, year after year. In neither case did one linger at table after having had one’s sufficiency. Breakfast was but a spark to the day. The table evaporated as quickly as it had condensed.

The ingredients of my breakfast have changed over the years.  Initially – that is, until I retired – the formula was eggs, bacon, toast and peanut butter. Most recently I have graduated to the European custom of a morning sweet; namely, the “Breakfast Cookie” from Neat Café. This supreme delight I punctuate with fried eggs, bacon and fresh fruit.  At home, it’s freshly cooked oatmeal with boiled prunes and frozen fruit. This morning I added nutty toast with cashew butter and Paradiso honey. Oh, and a peeled orange.

In my defence, I prefer to limit my evening meal (and only other meal of the day) to raw vegetables. And – if I still maintain an appetite – my partner’s unique dessert of which there are numerous ingredients including pecans, walnuts, vanilla yoghurt, flax seeds, maple syrup and dried fruit. I forgot to mention my afternoon indulgence of espresso and an apple.