Being a person means following a lot of rules.
There are rules about when you can swim in the deep end of a pool; where you can park, and for how long; the number of groceries you can smuggle into the express checkout line; the places you are required to wear shoes; what time you have to be at a particular location, and what time you are allowed to leave it.
Some of these rules exist so that we can enjoy a more orderly and peaceful co-existence with one another. And some of them are totally fucking arbitrary.
Case in point: (American) rules about breakfast food.
Don't get me wrong: Bacon, eggs, pancakes, oatmeal, bagels, sausage, and smoothies (among other brethren) are delicious. They're comforting, they're easy, and as such they should be enjoyed at all times of day. There's a reason we've so heartily embraced breakfast for dinner: the stack of French toast enjoyed with an IPA, the glorious hybrid that is a fried or poached egg atop savory leftovers. And it's time to turn that theory upside down. Repeat after me: « Breakfast food » is a social construct.
Enter: lunch and dinner (and dessert) for breakfast.
This is what I ate circa 8:45 a.m. last Thursday. It is a classic grilled cheese (American cheese, whole wheat bread, lots of butter) and tomato soup (boxed, probably very bad for me, definitely very delicious). I woke up and it was exactly what I wanted. I thought for a moment about adding bacon or an egg in order to make it more breakfast-y, but just as quickly realized that I would be doing such a thing based on the aforementioned Rules, not because I wanted to. I didn't want a bacon-egg-and-cheese; I wanted a grilled cheese, which is physically not so different but psychically worlds away.
Maybe you are already the type of person who's liberated yourself from these gustatory shackles. Maybe you're reading this and smirking; maybe you've enjoyed pre-commute turkey dinners since before you had molars. To you I say congratulations, and that I'm happy to now count myself among your number. I have often done things because I thought I should, because I had no other template, because I haven't always known how to read my own desires. I am learning how to be better.
Did you know you can transform the previous night's mashed potatoes into extremely decent latkes? Now you do!
Sometimes I go for straight-up luxury.
Literally the entire point of being an adult is so you that can have cake for breakfast. I purloined this one from my co-worker, but you could make it yourself.
Once I discovered that my local grocery store sold 10-packs of miniature tart crusts, my dining life (breakfast and otherwise) changed forever. Why make one beef pot pie or Nutella tartlet or green-pepper frittata when you could have LOTS OF THEM AT ONCE?
But I am not suggesting you do the same. I'm not evangelizing for grilled cheese, nor cake, nor anything other than what your heart and brain and stomach call for when you first put your feet on the floor in the morning. Maybe you love nothing more than a soft-boiled egg or a bowl of Cap'n Crunch as you wipe the sleep from your eyes. Maybe you enjoy drinking orange juice immediately after brushing your teeth. My friend Rachel once had a salad for breakfast! The world is full of possibility!
And yet, waking up and being in it is hard enough as it is; why not keep society's flood of demands at bay for just a few minutes longer? Besides, if you think about it, cereal really counts as a soup.