The Champions of Breakfast

There are just some things that every guy should do.

If a car breaks down, regard­less of the man’s per­sonal knowl­edge of mechan­ics, he should pop open the hood and take a look inside. The same goes for a pass­ing knowl­edge of spe­cific ath­letic events, includ­ing curl­ing, but above all else, mak­ing breakfast.

Most can say that their father makes the best omelets, sil­ver dol­lar pan­cakes or some other break­fast del­i­cacy. There is no excep­tion in my par­ents’ kitchen. My dad is the sul­tan of the spat­ula, flip­ping flap­jacks until they are fluffy and a shade of brown that matches the desired skin pig­ment of post spring break co-eds.

Eggs scram­bled or over-easy can be made to order in moments and with­out hes­i­ta­tion as bacon splat­ter dots the stovetop.

The morn­ings, which are often closer to the early after­noon hours, proceed an event­ful evening. We col­lege-aged men hone our craft in the kitchen or refine our palates with a vari­ety of menu items from restau­rants or din­ers that boast bot­tom­less cups of cof­fee brewed with magic to make it taste bet­ter than cof­fee made at home. All of this in the unwit­ting prepa­ra­tion for when our skills will be put to the test by the tough­est panel of judges: our friends and family.

Surely cave­men were grate­ful for the day they were finally able to toast their bread over the fire before mash­ing eggs, bacon and cheese between the slices, thus inventing the break­fast sandwich.

Of course, in this age where we fight for equal­ity between the sexes, it is per­fectly accept­able for a woman to spend her morn­ing hours before a waf­fle iron. But a man should not be a stranger to the del­i­cate grace needed to prop­erly fold an omelet and stand back qui­etly as the chomp­ing of jaws and squeak­ing of forks and knives intones a pleas­ant “thanks.”

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