Drinking in the morning is a tricky thing. Just enough mimosa or bloody mary, and you'll have a mild buzz, a kind of pleasant pre-noon warmth that can propel you into the rest of the afternoon. Too much, and you're doomed for a serious crash before 3 p.m. and possibly the dreaded 5 p.m. hangover.
As an ex-bartender, there have been too many times that I've suddenly broken into a cold sweat on Friday night when I suddenly remember I agreed to cover someone's brunch shift.
I had an embarrassing cooking mishap a few months ago. I’d invited a pastry chef friend over for dinner, and I was making my go-to entertaining entrée: Nigel Slater’s caramelized onion, Taleggio and thyme tart. It employs frozen puff pastry, so as long as you caramelize those onions in advance, it’s easy as pie. I let the puff pastry sit for 25 minutes like the package suggested and pricked it all over with a fork, brushing melted butter on it so the crust would be nice and
Pancakes are some seriously Betty Draper territory.
Sure, it’s easy to whisk together the batter. But otherwise, pancakes are the high-maintenance, narcissistic louts of the breakfast world. They demand that you stand by the stove, spatula at hand, watching them hawkishly waiting for bubbles to pop so that you can lunge at them, flip them, and deliver them to your hungriest-looking family member. One cannot easily multi-task while making pancakes. If you burn one and try to hide it in someone’s stack, that person will know, and likely weep.