Ralph Oswick: Breaking your fast can be a let down in so many ways

I’ve eaten some weird breakfasts in my time. Nearly 50 years on tour with Natural Theatre Company has given me quite an insight into the catering brainwaves of ‘mine hosts’ worldwide. Quite why one had to fill in a form asking for baked beans to be included in one’s morning fry-up in a certain Basingstoke establishment I will never know. I did as requested and displayed the completed application nightly before nine o’clock, but not once did I get my beans! In Okehampton the proprietor, forever to be dubbed Mr Meany by we thespians , placed a large notice on the sideboard proclaiming ‘Orange juice OR grapefruit segments.’ In addition, each full breakfast was garnished with exactly eight spaghetti rings. At that rate a tin would have lasted him a year. And they were definitely cash and carry ‘own brand’ and not one of the famed ‘57’ varieties! Noticing a poster in the dining room window protesting the controversial bypass plans, I asked my colleague if he knew the proposed route. Through here with a bit of luck he replied rather too loudly. In Brighton we explained that we had to be at the local radio station at an unholy hour next morning. Don’t worry gentlemen, we’ll see you get a proper breakfast. Can’t have you broadcasting on an empty stomach! On arrival at the studio we opened the generously sized package that had been left for us in the guest house hallway. It contained a dozen fish paste sandwiches. My accommodation at this year’s Edinburgh Fringe included a very generous morning repast. But a traditional Scottish breakfast with black pudding, haggis and fried fruit pudding was more than my poor morning after the night before tummy could cope with. An over-indulgement of culture and the local lager had even this stout party stymied. By the way, the latter item on the menu was a sort of fried suety Christmas cake that had my traditional Scottish friends flummoxed. Despite my breakfast experiences the world over, nothing quite beats the extraordinary offering literally plonked on my lap on a recent long-haul flight on a national flagship airline whose blushes I will spare. Whoever suggested that a semi-thawed frozen croissant containing a sliver of icy ‘American Cheddar’ accompanied by a lump of beige ginger cake with the consistency of breeze block clinker could make a rousing brecky for their jetlagged customers as they emerged from their dry-mouthed fitful slumbers should be forever sentenced to a lifetime diet of deep fried fruit pudding. Luckily, the thick polythene wrapping of this insult to bakers everywhere defeated me, so its pleasures remained unsullied by the parched lips of this particular jet setting breakfasteer!