Annabel Langbein
Pimp up your arsenal with these easy and delicious options
When I was growing up, my mother would set the table for breakfast each night before she went to bed. You’d come out in the morning and think there was going to be a party. An array of beautiful servingware, jugs, platters and bowls was laid out, along with an arsenal of cutlery. There were linen napkins and fresh flowers and lots of pretty little bowls ready to have various homemade juices, jams and preserves put in them. Heaven forbid if a milk bottle or jam jar found its way on to the table.
Breakfast started with fresh juice, fruit and cereal, and then moved on to a hot dish. When it was tomato season we would have tomatoes and bacon on toast, but generally we ate eggs, which my mother cooked for us individually as we arrived at the table. Toast and toppings came with tea or coffee. It was like living in a five-star hotel, and it was only Monday! My mother didn’t have any help in the house, this was just how she liked to do things.
During my years of teenage rebellion, I railed against my mother on almost every count, but I could not disavow myself of her delicious breakfasts.
Whenever my sister and I were sick she would prepare a beautiful tray with the first course of juice, fruit, cereal, milk and yoghurt all set out in little bowls and jugs and a just-picked flower on the tray. A few minutes later she would arrive to inquire: “What would you like next… do you think you might need a fluffy omelette?” We could have boiled eggs with buttery toast soldiers, or scrambled eggs, or bacon and eggs, but I always went for the fluffy omelette, it was such a treat.
Mum would whisk up the egg whites by hand with a little salt and pepper to a loose meringue and then quickly whisk in the yolks so as not to collapse the mixture too much before it went into the pan. The frypan would be hot so the butter melted to a sweet brown nuttiness before the ripple of creamy eggs went in. The heat would go down a little so the eggs could set without burning, and then she would wait until just the right moment before she flipped the whole thing and cooked it very briefly on the other side. The omelette would come out golden and puffy, filling the room with an appetising aroma. No matter what ailed me, this ethereal cloud of buttery egg goodness was guaranteed to make me feel better.
The acquisition of a food processor took mother’s fluffy omelettes to healthy new heights, as she took to whizzing in big handfuls of parsley with the eggs. The result looked like something Dr Seuss might have dished up, but it was, and still is, addictively moreish. Today I often make these for anyone who is feeling a bit off-colour, myself included.
I haven’t followed in my mother’s footsteps when it comes to table-setting standards, but I have learned from her the power of a good breakfast to set you up each morning ready to face the world.
Today I share some easy breakfast options.