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).
