Breakfast: It's Not Just For Hard-Charging Yuppie
Scum Anymore- 258
Hal Wastes His Wages
June 3, 2008
"I got the guts, but the guts need fuel…"
-Mickey Rourke (as Henry Chinaski) in Barfly
There was a time not so long ago when I never saw the light for day before 10:30
a.m. If I did in fact manage to stir before that magical hour when McDonald's
switches from their halfway decent breakfast to their run-of-the-mill fast food
fare, I would drag myself out of bed and toast the momentous occasion with a
99-cent sausage biscuit. Maybe there was some sort of construction going on
outside my window or a debt collector called particularly early and I answered
by mistake, rousing me from my liquor induced ennui. Whatever uncommon intrusion
lit my fuse at such an ungodly hour, the event gradually built up the sausage
biscuit to become a sort of slackers' reward for getting a jump on the day, like
something out of an Adam Sandler movie.
But recent events in my life have required me to adjust that daily itinerary,
and this Big Daddy is getting up earlier and earlier. With no time for
hangovers, be they from last night's booze or this morning's breakfast, I'm
making some adjustments to my intake as well.
I'd heard about breakfast from my friends--the ones with "real jobs" who got up,
put on clothes and actually left their homes to do some sort of work in a
building other than their home. The word breakfast quite simply means to "break"
the "fast"--whereas the average baby gets to eat throughout the night every 3 to
4 hours, depending on how cranky they are, most adults basically curb their
dining from dusk to dawn. So when I need to summon the strength for my cock-crow
perambulation, it's important to fill the tank.
One routine stop on the circuit is Hoboken Bagel (634 Washington St.,
Hoboken). While the enormous line out the door can be somewhat intimidating,
it's there for a reason. And these guys work so fast I'm in and out in no time,
enjoying my everything bagel/easy on the cream cheese or ham and cheese on a
croissant, with a V8 to wash it down--just a dash of Worcestershire and some
horseradish short of a "Virgin" Mary.
Along that vein, in the past I'd looked at fruit as nothing more than a cocktail
garnish. But behold, as it seems to serve other purposes as well. Hoboken
Farm (300 Washington St., Hoboken) carries a great selection of whole and
prepared fruit at reasonable prices. Or sometimes I'll drop into Delite
Supermarket (420 Washington St., Hoboken) as if channeling Chef from
Apocalypse Now with an overpowering urge for "$*@%!^& mangoes, man." They also
do this apple/grape/kiwi/strawberry cup that's worth getting "outta the boat"
for.
Of course I haven't fully shed my former skin, and every now and then there are
those mornings where I'm just too weary to lift and chew my own food. So I head
down to re-juice-a-nation (64 Newark St., Hoboken) and have my breakfast
tossed in a blender and served a la toothless geriatric. And what does a pudgy,
bald, sluggard like myself order at a bastion of health conscience like
re-juice-a-nation? Why The Olympian, of course--offering the fresh juices and
multivitamins needed to keep a machine like this chugging along.
Considering my historically addictive personality, some might note the
conspicuous absence of caffeine in my morning routine. But that would seriously
screw up my late morning nap, usually occurring immediately after my last
bite/chunk/slurp. You can't run headlong into this new, healthy lifestyle.
Baby steps, people--baby steps…
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Christopher M. Halleron, freelance writer/bitter bartender, writes a biweekly
humor column for The Hudson Current and websites in the New York Metro area. He
spends a lot of his time either in front of or behind the bar in Hoboken, New
Jersey where his tolerance for liquor grows stronger as his tolerance for
society is eroded on a daily basis. Feel free to drop him a line at
c_halleron@yahoo.com
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