Ireland, I was seduced by a soda bread. You never forget your
first. We'd met over a breakfast table in a small hotel, fuzzy
after a Friday night of Irish standard drinking. A brief,
wordless relationship ensued. A carbohydrate climax ensued.
Blame it on the drinks or on the Galway morning air or blame
it on the boogie from the night before. It may have been poor
judgement on my part, but I'm not for a second sorry. That
soda bread, my friend, was just the ticket. Just the right
thing to complement the splendid hot grub on the breakfast
We are all, of course, attending to our five portions a day
of life- enhancing vegetables and fruit. Cauliflower, bok
choi, baby spinach, that sort of thing. I can barely type
For us Celts and Northern Europeans - starved of sunlight
and the joys thereof, prone to Seasonal Affected Disorder
and the regular intake of alcohol to limit said disorder -
the bliss of hot stodge after a night of fighting SAD is without
parallel. The fried egg, the sausage (square or links - bring
it on), the beans, the potato scone, the bacon with This Much
ketchup, the warm buttered toast - God himself noshes into
this stuff on a Sunday morning, reading the sports pages and
wishing He'd sent somebody out to get another roll.
The presence of a tomato in a breakfast as described above
is to some, incongruous. Others see it as providing balance
– providing one of the five portions and boasting it’s
healthy credentials further by the fact of being grilled.
The full breakfast is so-called because it leaves you full.
The implication is that other sorts of breakfast leave you
wanting more – and that’s no way to start the