My sister’s in Spain for her honeymoon, my mother’s in Davao for a business trip, and with such a lonely table of three, there was only one breakfast meal that could possibly make the day indubitably better: waffles.
My love for waffles goes way back. We had owned this heart shaped waffle maker, which made this chirping sound once the waffles were brown and slightly crispy. I loved those mornings (plus the waffles) were always messy with batter-spilled counters and sinks filled with dirty bowls, and was probably one of the very few reasons why I liked breakfast as a kid.
I have a very strange relationship with breakfast—I never really liked it growing up. It was always associated with minute meals eaten in haste before the school bus arrived, and was the usual scrambled egg, hotdog or corned beef – rice combo. They usually made me drink milk in the morning, which I detested (I worry about my bones now), and they would never let me go until I had finished the glass empty.
On weekends, there would be variety, but as a picky eater, I generally disliked it all. Pancakes, were another thing, for some strange reason, I never liked pancakes as a kid. They were dry, occasionally soggy when drenched in maple syrup, and was very sweet (I liked salty breakfasts). If we planned it well, we’d have vanilla ice cream the night before, and I would devour my pancakes in seconds, under only the condition that it was topped with a scoop of vanilla ice cream and rainbow sprinkles.
Then there were mornings with dried fish and vinegar, Ate Lora and I would frown upon those breakfasts, and dig around the fridge for leftover dinner to eat with rice. If we were lucky, they would be thoughtful enough to serve corned beef or dried squid even if there was dried fish already on the table. We were very lucky if there was dried squid.
Waffles, on the other hand, there was never anything to complain about with waffles. Waffles were crunchy, and soft at the same time. Deep pocketed, and thin, there was never too much “waffle” in my mouth when taking a forkful. The deep pockets hold the chocolate chips, chocolate syrup and the ice cream which inevitably melts as breakfast goes on. It is not entirely messy, never too sloppy, but always good. (I would kiss the man that invented waffles. I mean really, they’re basically pancakes but a million times better. )
I like breakfast now—I think it was something that grew on me. I don’t know whether it was, because my family is always only complete during breakfast, or because I genuinely like the dried fish with vinegar and rice or the pancakes now, or the fact I don’t have to stuff my entire mouth with rice and ulam under sixty seconds anymore, but I like breakfast now.
I like cooking breakfast (woke up at five-thirty am this morning too), I like driving for it (mmm, sausage mcmuffin with egg) and most of all, I like eating breakfast—and this post is making me really hungry, so I’m going to do what I like best: eat breakfast.
P.S. I will post about something more serious, like my sister’s wedding next time.