Breakfast is a wonderful thing. It is the most important meal of the day, tied together with lunch and dinner (I mean, depending on what book you read, one of the three is most important). That is why Americans start by taking in an amount of sugar that will keep you running for an hour, feel miserable afterwards, and get you going on 5-hour energy bottles for the rest of the day. Or they eat dinner stuff. You know, pancakes. Or gravy.
Luckily, you don’t have to cook breakfast yourself. Plenty of places will serve you unhealthy classics in a sometimes unhealthy environment. On our last trip to Kansas City, we decided to stop at a small diner on our way out. It has good reviews on Yelp and looked like a classic ‘greasy spoon’, which is an awesome combination. We got in and felt somewhat out of place. To catch the atmosphere in one sentence: I am pretty sure we were the only two people not packing heat nor believing Obama is a Kenya-born Muslim communist (a spectacular Venn diagram in itself). I’m pretty sure Honey Boo Boo would have called them out for being hillbillies.
Grandma and toothless Teddy were hustling about in the kitchen -drinking Dr Pepper in between any two actions- as three hundred pounds of waitress gave us terrible coffee and looked down on us as if we were the ones that hadn’t taken a bath that week. We folded our hands in our laps and tried to order without touching the table or the menu. My biscuits and gravy were so greasy, that the biscuits seemed lubed to slide in without chewing. Incidentally, such an approach would favor most of the customers. The omelet Mrs Missouri had ordered left an oil stain so big, it went right through the plate, allowing us to play air hockey with her breakfast plate. After eating slightly less than half our breakfast, our bodies started to protest and we decided to pay the bill. I don’t think I ate anything until we arrived home. If only I’d gone for the sugary option.