When I first went to boarding school, when I went to college, my mid 20's, when I became a mother, when I had another baby. These years stand out in my life because they've all been times I've wondered if I'm the wrong character, in the wrong movie and I didn't really feel sure of anything much at all. The resounding questions being: Who am I? What the hell am I good at? How did I get here And where am I going to? Am I the same person as I was before? And the answer being whispered ever so piercingly throughout the decades is- of course not. After all the twists and bends- How could I be?
Even though I sometimes still feel like I'm 17, my aching back reminds me that I'm actually double that +1. There's also the thing where my taste in everything has changed. Matured? Not exactly, but changed, definitely. People, art, furnishings, turns of phrase, music, anchovies, lollies, alcohol. There once was a time when I coveted Toobs and lemon lime Vodka cruisers as my snack and drink of choice... Oh wait - cruisers suck but I still love those round morsels of tomatoey blast goodness. #bringbackToobs.
Aside from my allegiance to Toobs, there is another food 'situation' that has remained constant- right from when I was a small girl, until today.
Drum roll.........................................................
I don't like breakfast foods. Never have. Possibly could if it isn't some boring version of wheat or eggs, doesn't include milk or yoghurt and I don't have to eat it first thing in the morning -so that kind of rules most 'normal' things out and doesn't really classify as breakfast anymore.
As a kid, I can remember Mum trying to do her best and get me to breakfast, any which way.
As I didn't drink milk, (soy milk was pretty rank in the late 80's) the answer was 'Yes you can have orange juice on your sultana bran'.
In the quest to fill my stomach, in order to power my brain, she let me try all sorts of things- milkshakes, toasted sandwiches, fruit but the most enduring favourite was - wait for it- a can of corn kernels heated in the microwave.
I have so many questions for my 11 year old self starting with WHY WOULD YOU EVEN?! but I do want to give her my solid approval for not giving in to societal pressure to eat whatever mediocre muesli/granola/pancake/crumpet/corn flake was on offer. Even if it was tempting as it came in a mini cereal box.
Later on, the answer was still 'Yes you can go to the bakery before school and buy pizza breads and sausages rolls'. Sounds nutritious.....- but in her defence, Mum was scared that I'd be one of those kids who couldn't possibly learn anything if I hadn't had a hearty breakfast of toast and vegemite - with a milo on the side. And so,
she just let me eat anything, in the hope that it was better than nothing.
What about cooked breakfast? Bacon and eggs? Baked beans? Bruschetta? They're a little bit better but still don't really float my breakfast hating boat.
I'd never really questioned whether breakfast was the most important meal of the day, just ‘knew’ that it was. Why would I? The dogma was so strongly ingrained. Any time I'd spoken to a health professional and told them I didn’t eat breakfast, they reiterated the importance of breakfast above all else; THE MOST IMPORTANT MEAL OF THE DAY IN ALL CAPS.
Still, despite the warnings of a dire life without it, 'breakfast' just didn't make me feel good or entice me at all. Ixnay on the weetbix.
That is, until I was wondering around in a hotel in downtown Shinjuku and came across the most sublime International buffet breakfast and suddenly, my entire notion of breakfast changed. Crusty croissants and lacklustre Jam - be gone!
I hadn't expected to want anything to eat, especially from a hotel restaurant(ewwww) but oh. my. word. My life flashed before me. All these years I'd been missing out. I now finally understood old roommate's unwavering excitement to wake up and take on breakfast- day after day after day.
There were stations throughout a huge room, all offering something interesting, If not delicious. Canteens of miso soup- with toppings galore- the soup equivalent of cold rock ice cream. 4 types of rice, tamagoyaki pans cranking out those amazing square eggs which are sweetened with soy, sake and mirin but also given an umami burst with dashi stock- so they’re eggs- just much better, cute rolled eggs cut into bite size pieces.
There were the crispy bottomed gyoza that burst with soupy ginger porky goodness- heaven for soaking up any of the previous night’s sins and stir fried greens that tasted like they’d be seasoned by the Gods whilst making you feel virtuous AF.
There were pickles for any occasion, edamame, and 4 types of grilled fish. Seaweed x 1000 in all different colours and shapes, and of course versions of sushi, yakitori and katsu.
MILLIONS OF SMALL DELICIOUS OPTIONS BUT JUST AT BREAKFAST TIME. so basically Japanese yum cha…maybe I should have known because anyone who knows me, knows that Toobs sit along side Yum cha in my food Hall of Fame. Another epiphany.
Rather ironically, I've since found out, it used to be the norm to just eat whatever you had that was practical to prepare early in the morning. That was, before the concept of breakfast was ambushed by a small group of religious fanatics and lobbyists for cereal and bacon companies who made you think it was normal to eat the exact same thing every single morning and that it must be a dairy drenched version of wheat or corn.
This article is worth the read, but to summarise, basically Mr Kellogg and his mate Mr Jackson didn't want breakfast foods to power you to do the devil's work (masturbate- no I'm not kidding) and wanted to sell you their bland cereal in order to keep you healthy and safe from harm. Just read the article - I can't even.
What my Japanese epiphany did though, was make me see that it wasn't all breakfast I hated. It highlighted that my dislike centred around the time you‘re required to eat it and most western breakfast foods. My perspective shifted. Perhaps another sign I’m ageing, as I’ve reached the stage where I realise I barely know anything and cringe at my self righteousness in years gone by.
In another 17 years time, I imagine there will be more changes. I'll be a different person again, my thoughts and hopes and dreams, what (and who) I will or won't tolerate, won't be the same as they are now.
But it's comforting to know that most probably, some things will stay the same.
As a betting girl, I'm willing to wager that my back will still ache and you won't be able to convince me to eat any yoghurt and cereal, ever. I'm probably never going to enjoy pancakes or waffles as much as the average joe but I might, just might, take you up on brunch, as long as it's not continental breakfast and there's some dumplings and a Bloody Mary included.
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