When I first retired (or rather began working solely from home) breakfast became an area of lengthy exploration because I no longer needed to jump in the car for an insane commute: it was a new area of exploration.
However, over the past few years it’s become an unchanging orthodox ritual (should I blame love of ritual on my elsewhere mentioned childhood Catholic upbringing?;)). I don’t know but today, my breakfast simply aims to combine quality of ingredients with practised and now unthinking, perfection of realisation. It’s a bit like being able to get treble top on a dart board every time (but tastes a lot better)
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Freshly squeezed orange juice (amazing how the taste varies so much over the seasons).
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Five minute soft-boiled egg with cornbread soldiers toasted on a Le Creuset griddle pan then slathered with beurre d’Isigny.
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A croissant from the best croissant maker in Decazeville (we buy in bulk and freeze them) washed down with a café allongé made from high altitude Moka Sidamo beans hand ground and brewed in an Aeropress.
I do apologise if all this irritatingly reads like something from the menu of an unbearably hip, hipster menu in Hoxton (it’s true, but I think it does!). However, in mitigation, it’s really dead easy and my beard isn’t very long.