In Support Of Home Fries For Breakfast 🍟
morning rituals –
are something I’ve come to rely on as a constant in a life that moves faster than I can control it. Back when the days felt so long that I wished for darkness to descend earlier and earlier; when I missed home so much that I felt my bones would snap; or when heartbreak wasn’t something that just happened, but happened over and over again – I clung to the mornings.
These rituals were (and still remain) simple, mostly involving breakfast and coffee. They’ve remained intact in different countries and different surroundings. I’ve taken them from cold seas to hot jungles, jagged cliff tops to wide valleys; small surf towns to big cities.
In India, I found comfort in the 5am wake ups, coffees and bananas in the dark listening to the sea swell and hopping on scooters to drive to spots hidden behind mosques, tiny fishing villages or winding tracks. In Sri Lanka it was the simple joy of home cooked daal made by the local faces who had become like family. In California it was going to the main house for a pour over prepared by the wonderful Anna, taking the kids to school and speaking about life and love in her car as we drove to get groceries.
In Nicaragua, the morning ritual was difficult to cultivate. It was the first time I’d been alone with no purpose of being there. I had run out of money. I was living off the breakfasts that came with my room and one more meal in the day. What should have been paradise felt like a prison, and I would wake up panicked, wondering how to rush through the day so it could be dark again – dark enough to fall asleep. In those moments I felt deeply lonely; but there were always the mornings.
I would head to breakfast with a weak resolve that would strengthen with coffee on tap. I knew a few faces in the place I was staying – but for the most part I felt insecure and anxious to linger too long, intimidated by their beauty and friendships, both of which I longed for.
Those breakfasts, though. Often granola with homegrown fruits served in a beautiful, wide wooden bowl I would hold close to my chest. Sometimes a burrito stuffed with avocado, beans, rice, egg and cheese, all salt and softness. And my favourite, the Nica Tipico: a full plate of beans, avocado, egg and rice that I would douse in hot sauce and eat with such voracity that I had to remind myself to slow down – to savour it – to make it last.
Inhale, exhale. The jungle breathes deep.
Weeks went by and we were hearing reports of violence in the capital. Civil unrest was growing in Nicaragua, and while we were relatively safe in our little southern surf town bubble, it was a matter of time before food supplies were cut off and gas would run out. A group of us gathered our things and we headed to Costa Rica, crossing the border by foot.
Fuelled by a final breakfast, we said goodbye. That last morning in Nicaragua was heavy. But it brought a group of people together who I now call great friends, and we began new rituals in a different country – ones which involved sunrise surfs and mid-morning Caesars.
We were the lucky ones. We could escape. For the Nicaraguan friends we left behind, they did not have that luxury.
Looking back, although it was a strange time for me internally – I still remember the joy of the mornings more than the darkness of the days.
So here’s to the morning rituals that keep us waking up and hungry for more.
Cat x
home fries.
Home fries are possibly the greatest thing you could do with a potato. Home fries are what you get when you go into an all-American diner for breakfast. They come with your eggs and bacon, as normal as a hash brown in a caff. I made these the other night to use up a potato, serving them with a steak and little gem salad. They taste like sweet and spicy bites of heavy – crispy on the outside, creamy and soft on the outside. I also ate them cold for breakfast yesterday, dipped in homemade mayonnaise and nothing else. So sue me. It was a Saturday.
For one to two servings (one if it’s me, two if you’re a normal person who understands portions) – grab one large potato and cut it into small-ish cubes. Like the size of tater tots you’d get at the school canteen. Place them in a baking tray. Pour about ¼ cup of neutral oil – I used sunflower oil, but you could use rapeseed or normal olive oil (just not extra virgin). Grate one large clove of garlic and add 1 tbsp smoked paprika. Mix thoroughly so the garlic is spread evenly. Add a large pinch of sea salt and a few big grinds of black pepper. Place a couple of sprigs of woody herbs like rosemary or thyme between the potatoes.
Place in a preheated oven (190º) and cook for about 35 minutes. Keep checking – you want the oil to be shimmering. Mix the potatoes around once or twice so they get crispy on all sides.
Once done, serve hot with whatever meal you’ve got going on – and remember to save some for breakfast the next day. Or just eat them straight out of the tray because snacks.
food stories.
- A Juneteenth of Joy and Resistance – with the dual pressures of unrest and the pandemic, black chefs are contemplating the ways this holiday can help Americans cope, from The New York Times.
– For The Culture food magazine is a publication by Klancy Miller celebrating Black women in food and wine – they're raising money for the first issue, check them out here.
– Fanny Singer on her mother the superchef, Alice Waters (of Chez Panisse) via FT Weekend's How To Spend It magazine, written by Ajesh Patalay.
a few leftovers.
– Yes to these breakfast grilled cheeses from Half Baked Harvest
– It's cherry season – all about this compote for porridge/granola/toast
– Rainy days have called for big pots of beans topped with pecorino
– Will be trying this Dakar curry by Klancy Miller, for sure
– Head to @fortheculturefoodmag today at 4pm for their IG live Sunday Crunch, hosted by chef Zoe Adjonyoh who will be talking to Alisha Sommer
– Check out @blackfoodfolks to support Black professionals in food and drink
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