breaking the fast

I remember vividly the day I learned the meaning of breakfast. It was on a windy, cold, Ohio autumn day, colored by purple-edged maple leaves sticking to streets and sidewalks and soles, and I was in home economics class at Taft Junior High, circa 1983. We'd begun the cooking portion of the class, and the recipe of the day was quiche. These were the days when the phrase "real men don't eat quiche" still packed a wallop. But my family ate quiche. My father ate it; he even prepared it. Quiche Lorraine was his favorite. In cooking class, we were about to prepare a "Denver" quiche, replete with onions, green bell peppers and ham.

Breakfast, we were taught, came from the idea of "breaking the fast," meaning that your body had been asleep many hours and not taking in nutrients, so when you awoke, you needed to replenish your physical "engine". I thought this a fine idea. Any excuse to replenish my engine at any time of the day was a fine idea in my book.

I can still see those quiches coming out of the three ovens that comprised the kitchen area of our home ec classroom--their brown-tinged goldenness, the pieces of ham sticking out of the top like mosaic tiles haphazardly thrown into wet cement. The frozen pie shells we'd used for crusts were perfectly scalloped on the edges, and errant shreds of cheddar sprinkled the divets like confetti. It was beautiful. I was hungry.

I swear, every single morning when I'm munching my Go Lean cereal with soy milk or noshing on a sandwich of two 97% fat free waffles with one tablespoon peanut butter and one tablespoon apricot preserves, I hear the words "breaking the fast." I always eat breakfast. Given the copious amounts of coffee I consume (copious is, in my precariously-perched-on-the-edge-of-rot-gut world, about two cups, maybe three), I can't afford to not eat breakfast. Plus my brain needs the energy. I don't think well on an empty stomach. If it's empty, I can only think of what I'm going to put my stomach. Forget attention span. Forget anything resembling contributions to the team effort. Without food, I am a mindless, food-obsessed shell of a human.

I've found just the right foods that will carry me from approx. 8 a.m. to noon without crashing. Fiber comes first, followed in quick succession by protein and then calories. For breakfast, I have to eat at least 8 grams of fiber and at least 6 grams of protein in order to make it through until I fuel up again. It's good to know these numbers. I am surprised that I actually adhere to them. After all, knowing that it's good for me and that I will feel better isn't always enough of an impetus for me to actually do anything about it. Ain't that the kicker. Always has been, always will be. Postponing immediate gratification in exchange for lessons begrudgingly learned is one of my greatest struggles. But at least in the breakfast department I'm maintaining some kind of consistency.

Now onto breaking the bread.