I miss toast.
Saying that, I know that I enjoy the smell of fresh bread toasting, and the associated anticipation, more that I enjoy than actually eating toast.
Because when you think about it, the taste of toast is the lesser half of the whole experience. The tongue is pleased by the shmear, not the hot, dry bread.
I promise to continue to tell myself this, especially as I walk past the bakery on my way to breakfast tomorrow.
Sparkling water, lime twist.
Virgin Atlantic Clubhouse, Heathrow. The breakfast smells incredible, and I didn’t have dinner last night.
But I am declining, even the croissants, saving my calories for the Kosher Kedassia meals on the flight. There will be foods on my tray that are not on my training program, so I need to choose my sins.
But boy, am I hungry. The temptation to partake is extreme.
Egg whites, unsalted; a porridge of rolled oats and protein powder; a pot of English Breakfast tea and a liter of still water.
The US needs Nando’s, the UK chain of Portuguese chicken restaurants. This was an incredibly flavorful grilled chicken and rice combo.
My wife wouldn’t like it much: Nando’s runs a wee bit strong on the sodium side. Aside from that, their food is better tasting and better for you than anything they serve at Popeyes.
When the revolution comes, the first thing they will do is close the coffee houses.
Then they will burn them.
Good morning from Costa Coffee in King’s Cross.
The imposing Victorian edifice across the street is the train station housing Platform 9-3/4 . (For you muggle/nomaj types, that’s the London terminus of the Hogwarts Express.)
The coffee in the foreground is an iced Americano. After a wholesome breakfast of oats, almond butter, and whey protein, my stomach is returning to normal.