Breakfast for me usually means a) just dark coffee with a fair amount of sugar or b) the full works: eggs, sidemeat, toast, mimosa. Occasionally I’ll venture into some sort of honeyed granola territory, but usually it’s all or nothing. Imagine my surprise when, down visiting McKay in Mississippi, I discovered the simple, bittersweet joys of the prepared grapefruit half. What an adult epiphany. Maybe it’s the ritual of the preparation, segmenting out each little slice, or perhaps it’s that there are specialized serrated spoons and bendy three-sided knives just for the task, the not-quite-absolutely-necessary tools that make any food experience so much better (see also: escargot tongs, olive fork, clam ram, cake stand), or maybe it’s just the juicy goodness, complex, funky, and unbelievably fresh. Whatever it is, I like it.
ps. this picture was taken in Miss McKay’s morning dining room. I can’t even begin to talk about the light, the daffodils, or the hot-pink-muffler that was Miss Molly’s hostess gift. More on all of that next week.