Break•fast /’brekfɘst/ – The first meal of the day usually eaten in the morning.

To break the fast. The fast being the period of time between dinner the evening before and waking up. The American breakfast as we know it started during the Industrial Revolution when people needed a meal before going to the factory or heading off to school. Often called the most important meal of the day.

– A History of Breakfast (and the Case for Leftovers), Audrey Watters

I love breakfast. I mean, I love all meals, but breakfast really is my favorite. It comes in so many varieties. Like different schools of art or artists themselves. The minimalist: a croissant and coffee. A Reuben: an Irish full breakfast. A Monet: poached egg on a muffin with hollandaise sauce. Most of us rush off to work or school with a bowl of cereal and a cup of coffee in our bellies. We don’t have time to make pancakes every day or fry ourselves an egg. We may stop at a coffee chain and get a sandwich with crummy bacon, a precooked egg and American cheese (which in my opinion isn’t really cheese). Thus, when we have the opportunity to have an actual breakfast it feels like a special event. A Sunday morning with the family enjoying French toast or poached eggs on avocado toast. Perhaps outside on the patio on a warm autumn morning. A warm cup of coffee in hand with the smell of bacon and warm maple syrup in the air. It’s pretty tough to beat.

Despite not eating an actual breakfast every morning, it is still my favorite meal. When I come home from three months of cooking at sea, I’ll cook a big breakfast for my family and friends. The works – eggs, fruit, pancakes, French toast, croissants, potatoes, bagels, bacon, sausage, enough to feed a dozen or so people. I’ll often have coffee I’ve picked up in my travels, like some Kona Peaberry I purchased at the Honolulu Coffee Company. I once brought home some no-name Brazilian coffee I picked up in the mountains outside of Fortaleza, and it was amazing! I’ll also try new foods I’ve discovered, like tocino from the Philippines, a sweet, marinated pork that is sautéed in water until the water evaporates and the pork chunks caramelize. Wonderful. We’ll eat and talk about the events I missed and look at some cool pictures of my travels and just reconnect. It’s more casual than a dinner. Slower. More comfortable. It’s a great way to come home and be with my family and friends.

As a steward on research vessels, breakfast really is the most important meal of the day. It’s the one everyone starts off with, and it’s important to have both consistency and variety. My basic lineup every morning consists of oatmeal, bacon, sausage, home fries, hash browns, pancakes, French toast, scrambled eggs and eggs to order. Add to this some special item like blueberry-cream cheese stuffed French toast, an English muffin topped with spinach, tomato, Swiss cheese and poached egg. Something different every day. Always eggs Benedict on Sunday, and sausage and gravy on Saturday. It’s a great way to start the day. It’s the one meal almost everyone comes to, based on the schedule of folks on the ship. I try hard to make sure that everything is hot and fresh. I have a recipe for no-knead brioche from America’s Test Kitchen that I use for making cinnamon rolls. Quite fantastic. Though no help for my ever-constant attempt to lose 10 pounds.

If I had a favorite breakfast memory, this would be it: As a “subsistence” worker for almost my entire life, meaning I worked just to get by, vacations were something a bit out of reach. As a result, my time off needed to be affordable and fairly close. Only recently have I been able to head off to Europe or Alaska. Affordable and fairly close turned out to be camping at Quechee State Park in Vermont. Far enough away that I couldn’t be called back to the restaurant for small things, but close enough to return in case of a real emergency. I’m lucky because I love camping. I love the fireside talks and soft music as the stars whirl overhead. I love the sound of rain pitter pattering on the tent. I love hearing animals snuffle around, searching for bits of food that we may have left out.

We camped at Quechee State Park for almost twenty years straight. Others came as well. Friends, family, people who needed a nature respite. I sleep better there than almost anywhere else. A full, deep night’s sleep, dreams of good things and happy times. I am also an early riser even when camping, often waking hours before the others. I rise, make my cup of coffee and then grab my fishing pole and gear and head down to the base of Quechee Gorge. At 4 a.m., there is no other human on the trail. It’s still dark, the gloaming just starting to come through the trees. Navigating the steep trail downwards I see a deer in the shadows. It raises its head, wiggles its ears, and continues its course. I am no threat. A little further on an owl returns to roost for the day. At the bottom, I enter the water and begin to walk across the rocky river, positioning myself about 100 feet downstream of the spillway. I begin casting my trusty J-7 Jointed Rapala Minnow into the base of the rushing water as it spills over the rocks, and before long, I’ve got two or three beautiful rainbow trout. Shiny, gorgeous creatures kept cold in my creel. I climb out of the river and head back up the trail. This way is a bit more arduous. It’s steep, I’m wet, and I’m carrying a couple of extra pounds, both in water-soaked clothes and fish. I like to joke that it’s one quarter of a mile down and two miles up.

Upon return to the campsite, I set about starting the campfire and getting breakfast ready, the centerpiece of which will be the trout. I put the grill over the fire and place a couple of cast iron skillets over the coals to get hot. In the first skillet I put some chopped potatoes, onions, and a few chanterelle mushrooms if I’ve found some. In another skillet, a generous amount of vegetable oil and butter, bonus if I have bacon fat from the day before. I gut the fish and simply dredge it in flour that’s been salt and peppered. I lay the fish in the sizzling fat and when it’s crispy and brown on one side I turn it over. I put a cover over the fish and take it off the heat.

By now, others have awakened. Coffee has been made and the table set. NPR streams quietly on the Bluetooth speaker. The potatoes are done, the fish is not overcooked but moist and crispy at the same time. On the gas griddle, I begin cracking eggs. We all sit and have our first meal of the day together. It is as close to a primal breakfast as you can get. I caught and prepared the food we ate. We are sharing a meal at the start of the day together. We talk about what we would like to do. Hike? Fish? Laze around in the hammock? The connection makes it quite special. It’s as close to perfection as you can get. In all my travels and adventures there is no breakfast equal to that one!

Speaking of travels and adventures, here are a few random breakfast memories from my life as a mariner:

Big, burly construction workers in Rome with their safety vests, hard hats and calloused hands doing shots of espresso out of dainty little cups. In my mind, I see their pinkies in the air though I know that wasn’t the case. Enjoying Da Ing (garlic fried milk fish) for breakfast before a hike up to the Seven Sisters mountaintop in the Philippines. Custard apples and cheese bread in Fortaleza, Brazil. Amazing and yet unidentifiable sausages with eggs with local fishermen in Cabo Verde. Coffee and a croissant while watching the shoppers at a farmers’ market in Baden, Switzerland. Breakfast is typically when the world is waking up. People heading to work, off to university, or bringing the kids to school. I like that time of day. Fresh with opportunity and filled with much that could happen. The world is my oyster, usually eaten by lunch.

There are times when I am home however, that I have no desire to cook breakfast. I don’t want to cook nor clean up afterwards, and it is at these times that I’ll take my family out for breakfast. There are four people to consider: me (who will eat just about anything), Hill (also adventurous), the 10-year-old (beginning to have a palate), and an 8-year-old whose primary concern is the motif of the restaurant – chickens being an easy favorite.

Cape Cod has an excellent breakfast culture. We have a wide variety of choices. As a family, we end up all over Cape Cod and frequently eat at several different places. The top of my list, however, no longer exists. That place is the original Jack’s Outback where you were greeted by a grumpy Jack behind the counter. The current version under new ownership does a very nice job, but it was Jack who would frequently refer to the customer as “Skippy”. As in, “The government told us that hollandaise may not be safe, take your chances Skippy.” My grandmother in-law loved the place. Jack would be a grump with everyone else and then flirt mercilessly with Big Memere. She’d giggle like it was 1945 again. When you wrote down your order and handed it in, you needed to make sure it was complete. You sure better have your name on it. Otherwise, a cry of “which Skippy wanted the French toast with home fries!?” would call out like an Auntie admonishing you. I’ve seen many a grown man shrink in their seat under that withering gaze. You weren’t sure if it was a gimmick or not. I’m still not sure! Where else would you find a poem on the wall entitled “An Ode to Jack’s Big Toe”, with an illustration by Edward Gorey, a regular at the restaurant. Created after Jack’s big toe had been amputated, it’s an image of said toe flying to heaven with angel’s wings. The kicker was this: the best eggs Benedict you’ve ever had. The poached eggs creamy, the muffin crispy, the Canadian bacon just right and the hollandaise sauce made from scratch with two yolks for every order. (Two things that every restaurant should make from scratch is hollandaise sauce and tartar sauce. Premade of either will immediately mean I won’t eat there again.) Call me Skippy all you want as long as I’m getting that beautiful breakfast.

Side note: There are two things I’m fairly picky about. In my heart I’m a Vermonter. You should have in your fridge at home 100% real maple syrup. Not that corn syrup liquid monstrosity. The best comes from Vermont, then Maine, New Hampshire and Montreal. Sorry New York. My breakfast places all carry real maple syrup, and I am glad to pay extra for it. I know it’s not cheap. Also, I don’t eat omelets very often, but when I do it’s critical that they be cooked in a sauté pan and not on a griddle. When cooked on a flat top, there is no fluffiness to the eggs. They are just flat and seem to have no substance. The pan causes the eggs to rise up instead of out and gives them loft. I often get funny looks when I ask how the omelet is cooked but pay attention, you’ll see that pan cooked is a substantially better omelet.

I’m in Palau and Guam right now, finishing up in Ketchikan, Alaska. I’m looking forward to being home in November for Thanksgiving. Once home, after three months at sea, I’ll have a family breakfast and then go out to eat for a couple of days. I’m sure that many of you will have your own suggestions and fond memories. Let me know your suggestions. I’m always looking to try new places… with or without a chicken motif!

Jeff Avery aka Captain Awesome is a local Cape Cod chef currently working for the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration in the winter. He’s traveled, eaten and cooked in 25 countries across five continents, and I bet you can’t guess what his favorite beverage is. He’s happy to be writing for edible Cape Cod and loves his experiences here. He’s also the owner of Cape Cod Learning Tours, a hands-on marine science adventure company.

Jack’s Outback
161 Main Street, Yarmouth Port
jacksoutback.com

Edward Gorey House
8 Strawberry Lane, Yarmouth Port
edwardgoreyhouse.org