I have a love, hate, hate relationship with breakfast which manifests itself in a vicious cycle. It starts with a week of enthusiasm where I’m eating breakfast daily, religiously, and can’t even contemplate starting my day without it. Unfortunately that enthusiasm wanes as we enter week two; I realise I don’t actually need to eat it every day to survive, in fact, I can survive every day without it. After a week of that, the guilt sets in. I know it’s the most important meal of the day, I know it’s good for me, and so I resolve to make an effort the next week… and on and on it goes.
Every so often the cycle halts momentarily, usually coinciding with one of our weekend breaks or longer escapes. I’m always a breakfast fan then. I like nitpicking through bountiful breakfast buffets, I love having an excuse to eat pastries all morning long because it’s the done thing in France, Spain or Portugal, and more recently I rediscovered my love of eating rice and noodles for breakfast in Malaysia. Seems a tad unusual for those of us who grew up eating cereal and toast in the mornings, but heck, I love noodles and rice, why not eat them for breakfast as well as lunch and dinner.