I’ve never been much of a breakfast eater—not historically, at least. By this, I’m referring to “eating a meal first thing in the morning”, not breakfast foods themselves. Breakfast foods I can absolutely get behind. Breakfast foods I love. (Tell me you, too, don’t swoon at the sight of a thick buttered slice of sourdough toast topped with an egg, its canary-yellow yolk running in sticky rivulets into the crevasses of the bread.)
As a teenager, I know we regularly ate breakfast before driving the 45 minutes to school, although I can’t remember the daily routine of it much. I’m guessing we would have quickly spooned milk-sodden Rice Krispies into our mouths while racing around grabbing shinguards and math textbooks, or stuffed a buttered piece of my mom’s raisin bread, lightly spiced with cinnamon with a dark brown crust, between our teeth while closing the front door behind us.
In college, I did not eat breakfast, unless you consider breakfast to be a chocolate PowerBar eaten in haste while half-jogging to a geology seminar (for which I was perennially late) or a late Saturday morning meal of a dining hall omelet (mediocre at best, made with liquid eggs) and a massive fountain Diet Coke after a late night involving vodka mixed with warm Fresca and a questionable amount of beer. Oh, you don’t consider either of those breakfast? You’re shaking your head at me? You’re both ashamed of me and shocked my body still functions? Same, same. Same.
After graduation, my mornings took on a frenzied but regular rhythm: get up, run in Central Park, shower and blow dry my hair, and rush down the street to catch the subway to work with a pair of heels tucked into my bag. Upon arriving at my stop, I’d climb up to street level, emerging in the bright pre-work chaos of Times Square with thousands of others. I couldn’t manage more than a very large latte as I switched into my stilettos and click-clacked down the tiled hallway of my office building. I’d hold on until 11 AM when I’d rush out for lunch, feeling like the morning had already stretched longer than a month.
When I was pregnant, I woke up every morning ravenous. If I didn’t eat within the hour, I felt sick and dizzy—and I only wanted savory food, preferably eggs. The thought of a pancake—slick with maple syrup—or a bowl of creamy yogurt dotted with brown sugar granola made my stomach turn.
I’d go sit at a restaurant somewhere in Manhattan—maybe at a wobbly two-top tucked in the back of the cozy mirrored-and-wood planked room of Cafe Cluny on West 12th Street, or on a plush banquette in the ornate dining room at the impossibly stunning Le Coucou in Soho. I’d order an omelette oozing with cheese and dotted with herbs. When the waiter came to collect my empty plate, I’d often request a second course of scrambled eggs, gesturing at my stomach as if to say, “I’m growing!”.
Of course, the days of leisurely omelette-eating are behind me, as it turns out that babies don’t really enjoy watching you read a novel and swan about thinking only of yourself. They much prefer putting their gummy yogurt-covered fingers on your cheeks and clinging to your legs while you try to empty the dishwasher.
But, as I think more about feeding a tiny mouth, I’m brought back to breakfasts of my childhood—likely the reason I’m such a fan of breakfast food in the first place.
We had our fair share of cold cereal (in our household, that meant Cheerios or Shredded Wheat or Grape-Nuts or maybe Raisin Bran, which I considered sugary cereal—imagine my shock and awe when I learned of the existence of Cinnamon Toast Crunch).
I liked my mom’s white sandwich bread, toasted and spread with butter, then drizzled with honey and showered in Wheat Germ. My dad occasionally stepped in to make weekend breakfast—his specialty was Cream of Wheat, cooked so just a few lumps (the best part!) remained. He’d ladle it, steaming hot, into shallow bowls and pour a thick cascade of cream from our Jersey cows over top and add a few spoonfuls of dark brown sugar, which would clump with the cream.
Sometimes we’d have a one-eyed giant, which I’ve since learned most people call a toad in a hole: an egg fried inside the hole of a slice of toast.
My mom made glass Pyrex pans of sticky orange rolls—biscuit dough rolled around a jammy filling of orange juice, butter, flour, and sugar—and cornmeal pancakes, their crisp golden edges lacy with butter, and soft-boiled eggs that we ate out of pretty ceramic egg cups.
And waffles—of course. Our waffle maker was old and battered, which is the very best kind to have, as it gets a patina of age that’s as non-stick as the best cast-iron cookware. She made traditional waffles, although not shying away from the addition of heavy cream and sometimes adding orange zest and cinnamon.
I make waffles more and more now, freezing batches of them in Ziplock bags. I like the overnight yeasted variety the best, although I don’t always remember to execute in advance.
A triangle of frozen waffle is a near-perfect food for a toddler: comforting for sore gums, easy to carry, not wildly messy, and you can add all manner of exciting things to the batter (spices or pureed fruit or finely chopped vegetables and herbs or cheeses).
Lately, I’ve been making waffles with rye flour—if you have a recipe you already like, try swapping 1/3 of the flour called for with rye for a nuttier, richer flavor. I skip any sweetener, partly for the sake of the babe and partly because I prefer them that way. If you want something sweeter, try adding up to 2 tablespoons of brown sugar with the dry ingredients.
A few combinations I like when I want to jazz it up (add dry mix-ins with dry and wet with wet):
-1/2 teaspoon cardamom + 1 tablespoon finely ground coffee
-2 tablespoons poppy seeds + 1 tablespoon fresh lemon zest + 1 tablespoon sugar
-1/4 cup finely chopped almond paste + 2 tablespoons honey
-1/3 cup grated cheddar + 2 slices crispy bacon, finely chopped
-1/4 cup grated apple + 2 tablespoons boiled cider + 1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
-1/4 cup grated Parmesan + 2 tablespoons minced fresh parsley
-1/3 cup pumpkin puree + 1 ounce fresh Brie, chopped into small pieces
Note: While it’s fine to let the batter rest briefly, don’t let it sit for too long. The leaveners are activated once you mix wet with dry, so you’ll want to use them relatively soon—whereas, with yeasted waffles and batters, they can sit and ferment for hours and develop flavor, because the yeast is alive and continues doing its thing!
**Good additions include almond or vanilla extract, spices like cinnamon and cardamom and nutmeg, add-isss poppy seeds or a drizzle of tahini (with the milk).
Rye Waffles
About 8 waffles
1 cup (106g) rye flour
1 cup (120g) all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
2 cups (454g) whole milk
2 eggs
1/4 cup (56g) oil or melted butter
Whisk together the flours, baking powder, and salt.
In a separate bowl, whisk together the milk, eggs, and oil or butter.
Preheat your waffle iron and grease if needed—cook, according to the maker’s instructions, repeating until your batter is used up.
Either enjoy hot, or let cool completely then freeze. They’re very good toasted!