Breakfast Is My Butter Half

I’m the spitting image of gluttony. Actually ,that’s a lie. But more on that later. For now, let me croon sweet symphonies for my love of butter and eggs, two ingredients I continue eating with alarming consciousness. Two ingredients that will never go on exile for as long as I breathe. Butter and eggs for breakfast makes a lot of sense, but frankly I’m so ratchet, I’d eat it in a fast moving vehicle, a taash party and at fashion week with unwavering focus and love.

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No, I do not shove vada or samosa into pav, I shove boiled eggs, slightly-scrambled peppery-eggs  and sardine and pulled meat into (and onto) generously buttered slices of bun and bagel.

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Of course, my culinary pleasures extend beyond the aforementioned food groups. I love toast and cheese too. Crisp toast, not soggy bastard toast. And cheese. Any sort will do for me. Processed, smelly, soft, hard, my kingdom and my dwindling bank account for a chunk, hunk, slice, sliver, or a spot of cheese. While I love Manchego, Cheddar, Camembert and Parmesan the most, I’ll happily eat triangles and slices and blocks of cheap processed cheeses too.

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Hard bread and soft cheese make me breathless. I can eat it sitting down, lying down, standing up, bending over. While eating hard bread and soft cheese I can forget about bills, Tinder, and my imaginary friends.

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Please don’t be dull and eat some cake for breakfast too. Good cake isn’t cheap and cheap cake isn’t good and please eat cake regularly because it’s someone’s birthday somewhere.

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And I leave you with this delicious vision of an ice cream cone. Which I promise is excellent breakfast behaviour, if you don’t let it melt down your arm, onto your elbows, and into your sleeves.

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