Typically, breakfast is not just my thing. A decent cup of coffee and I am good to go. The German’s mid-morning meal of fresh baked brotchen (still hot from the oven of course), a little tab of butter and jam, with coffee, is pretty good, but good brotchen is just so hard to find. Americans are getting better at it, but most folks just don’t seem to appreciate fresh bread in the morning.
A good German, Italian or Frenchman would not consider a day without fresh bread. I had an Italian friend whose mom came to visit for a few weeks, and one day she stopped and asked: “How do they do it?” My friend replied, “What?” and her mom said, “Live without bread!”
I do enjoy making Sunday brunch for friends, but I rarely use a breakfast theme. More often than not, its something on the grill, it’s a man thing, I guess. But I do have one extraordinary breakfast memory. Many years ago, I was living in Germany and had a girlfriend (Sylvia, love of my life), who was Italian American. Her family visited family in Northern Italy several times a year and one summer, I was invited to go along. It was a grand adventure! We ended up in a small village on Lago de Garda, Perschiera del Garda, I think, a lovely lakeside city. We found a nice café (most likely Bella Vista Ristorante) and were enjoying the view, holding hands as young lovers do, and I am sure being a little starry-eyed : it was simply magical.
My Italian speaking girlfriend ordered for us, and shortly plates arrived with toasted freshly made ciabatta bread, thin slices of prosciutto de Parma, and fresh local eggs that were lightly poached. It was a warm summer’s day and life was perfect.
I have many times tried to duplicate that lovely breakfast, but never came close. I can get the bread, prosciutto and eggs, but they are not locally sourced, but I can’t duplicate that lovely Italian day, or the happiness of being young and in love.
The best I can do is Sunday brunch in my backyard. I slice open fresh pistolettes from Le Bakery in Biloxi, toast them on a hardwood fire, and fill them with large shrimp, briefly roasted on the fire, and melted cheese. I call it Billy Roberts, the fellow who introduced me to this odd combination. If you have a good bottle or rose to go along with it, it will be even better.
