I love breakfast. I can eat it at any time of day or for all three meals in one day. It’s probably the most American thing about me. Because when I say breakfast, I don’t mean eating any kind of food when you wake up in the morning (like they would here in Cambodia). When I say breakfast think cereal, eggs, milk, juice, cheese, oatmeal, yogurt, fruit, toast, hashbrowns, fried tomatoes, pancakes, honey, waffles, crepes, french toast and maybe a mimosa or two.
Even mentioning it makes me crave a lovely Sunday morning brunch in New York City. Okay, time to stop the food porn.
Unfortunately, breakfast of this fashion is not well known outside of the West–and forget about brunch, my darling New Yorkers. No way. But when I travel, it is one of the things I miss most about living in the US. Don’t get me wrong, wherever you find travelers roaming breakfast is not far away (aka at the tourist restaurant with the same menu all over the world–breakfast, spaghetti/pizza, and a few local dishes) . But if you venture off the beaten path, you’re likely to discover that most people around the world eat the foods for breakfast as they do for lunch and dinner, irrespective of income level or status.
In Asia, this means rice, rice and more rice. When I’m in the field (silly expression international development practitioners use to describe their work in rural areas as opposed to in the office), I literally eat rice three times a day. The food is nice and the staff sweetly prepare a special vegetarian dish for each meal for me–but at 7 am the last thing I can face is a steaming hot plate of vegetables and a giant mound of white rice. Especially when the woman next to me is happily munching on cow cheek.
It is on these mornings that I dream of a large bowl of Honey Bunches of Oats and a big glass of apple juice.
Breakfast, O Breakfast, how I love thee.
Adventures & Misadventures of a Twentysomething Traveler 