Breakfast, foolisht style.

Coffee, coffee, coffee.  Columbian medium roast from Whole Foods (come on, where else, I've become a full on yuppie), full and grainy like chocolate.  Grind them fresh, and the noise of the grinder calls the cat from her evening romp through the backyard.  While the coffee brews, I steam the milk (whole, fatty) and finally marry the black brew with the froth to make, beautifully, a cafe au lait.  Just a bit of sugar, no more, so that I don't spoil the berry flavor of the coffee and the richness of the milk.

In the juicer, I toss an entire peeled orange and half a grapefruit.  Out it comes, morning juice: tart, bright, like sunshine.  Just enough pith in it to intensify the vitamins but not enough to destroy the taste.  How heavenly is a grapefruit?  I prefer the French word for it: pamplemousse.  The spice in it, the natural pepper of a grapefruit.  Mm.  The citrus rinds amid the spilled coffee grounds makes a vivid tableau.

On an iron skillet on very low heat goes a single flour tortilla, two big slices of real Jarlsberg cheese, and about half of an avocado, thinly sliced.  If God made two things perfectly, it's the tomato and the avocado.  And so delicious together, too, if you have the inclination: green and red, glistening with oil and a bit of lemon juice.  But not this morning.  This morning, I let the avocado do its own thing.  Maybe just a bit of help from the Tapatio bottle.

Once the cheese gets nice and melty and the tortilla has just begun to crisp up, I slide the whole business onto a plate and fold into a breakfast burrito shape.  Hot avocado slices gooze up, demanding to be eaten first.  I can't wait to sit down and take a quick bite.  Delicious: warm from the skillet and the Tapatio but still all avocado: green, mealy, silk.  

That's breakfast.  Now, what will lunch be?