I've become a breakfast person, which is weird, but necessary for my gut health. It's a whole thing. I cook breakfast for myself six days a week (the other day I just drink coffee until lunch, and inevitably regret it), so it would stand to reason that I'd get all fetishy about the equipment and ingredients, right? Nah. I'm complacent about bettering my circumstances sometimes for reasons I'm trying to understand—hereditary Catholic guilt about owning nice things, a terror of brokeness, a raging case of impostor syndrome (who does she think she is with that pricey piece of cookware, INA GARTEN!?), and a constant low-level malaise that makes it hard to, like, bother. But sometimes good things happen by osmosis or accident, and two of them radically improved my breakfast life this year. Read more... |
