The Best of Breakfast

Perhaps because breakfast at home is often a breathless affair, I tend to remember leisurely breakfasts from travels. Perhaps because I am not slicing my own grapefruit or toasting my own toast, that first meal of the day in another setting assumes splendid importance.

Perhaps because I prefer savoring breakfast with a view to any midday break, I can recite morning menus as if they were favorite poems. I can smell fresh-ground coffee at 50 paces.

View in Williamsburg

If I could be having breakfast anywhere today, it might be at the Williamsburg Inn in that wonderfully restored Colonial town in tidewater Virginia. I would choose a table by a tall window in the conservatory, looking out on artful trees and dodging squirrels. I would sip the demitasse of rich coffee that is offered as soon as guests are seated, a welcome eye-opener to aid in the pleasurable reading of a Southern menu. Then I would order my favorite dish: the Swiss muesli , a crunchy combination of chilled rolled oats, sliced fruits, nuts and yogurt, that is packed with good taste and energy.

If I could be dining anywhere this morning, it might be at Le Cafe, an informal second-floor rendezvous at the Mandarin in Vancouver, British Columbia. I would choose a rose and ivory upholstered chair at a table overlooking the sunken garden near the lobby. I might order a pot of Earl Grey tea in honor of the city’s English roots, or the hotel’s Oriental stems. I would read the innovative East-meets-West menu. Then I would order the Swiss muesli which, in Vancouver, comes with fresh cream or yogurt.

If I could be at breakfast anywhere, it might be in the gracious dining room of the Jared Coffin House on the history-splashed island of Nantucket. Sea captains and descendants of European fishermen have left their mark. One subtle reminder is the French toast made with fluffy Portuguese sweet bread. It comes with a pitcher of thick maple syrup. I would leave no trace.

In Marrakech, breakfast smells of oranges heaped in baskets, their fragrance as heady as spilled perfume. In Rome, in the spring, there are wild strawberries, perfect miniatures with their own tantalizing taste. In Greece, plump fresh figs brighten outdoor breakfasts at country inns. In Hawaii, there are juicy pineapples from the fields of Maui, which is how close pineapples should be from earth to table.

For daily bread, it’s hard to beat the croissants of Paris or the bolillos of Cabo San Lucas.

Chinese Meal

In China, I clung to the option of Western breakfast, which was often fried eggs and toast. Chinese breakfast involved a mound of something dry and brown that resembled rock-wool insulation. Add liquid to it, they urged, but that seemed only to encourage the mass and make it grow. Some good sports chewed on it each morning until the tour bus came.

Even the memory makes me thirsty. Now that the sun is high, I’ll pour a mug of coffee, slice a grapefruit, toast some toast, and, in honor of Normandy, Wisconsin and Denmark, add a little butter--and a chunk of cheese.