Standing bleary-eyed in the lobby of a Hampton Inn near Belle Vernon, Pennsylvania, I find myself happier than I should be with the complimentary breakfast that is laid out before me. There is no line for the conveyor belt toaster, so I have time to let my my English muffin halves run through three cycles, giving them the perfectly burnt edges I love so much.
Sunday night I had the joy of seeing one of my favorite bands (Trashcan Sinatras) play an exquisite live set at one of my favorite venues (Joe's Pub in New York City). When I got home a little bit before midnight, I did what any normal person would do: I started roasting a sweet potato. This wasn't to be a post-concert, pre-bed snack—that's dark chocolate and/or a small splash of Scotch—but rather breakfast for the next morning.
Lent was traditionally a very somber time in my devout Catholic family.