Category: Breakfast


Cinnamon Quinoa

I am not a morning person.  I never have been.  I much prefer to hit that snooze button just one more time before I wrestle myself out of the nest of pillows and blankets I surround myself in for those sleeping hours.

This one more time makes breakfast a bit of a challenge.  My weekends are filled with beautiful frittatas, lovely pancakes, and even the occasional breakfast casserole.  I love to slowly sip my cup of mostly cream with a little bit o coffee and let the aroma of herbs and eggs bring my day to it’s starting place on Saturday or Sunday.  I adore sitting quiet with a book as the light filters in through the blinds and allowing the day to begin as all good days should.  Slowly.  The weekends are not hard, it’s those other pesky five days of the week that leave me struggling.  There are scrambled eggs, sure.  There’s my beloved cinnamon rice chex.  If I’ve baked lately there is likely some form of doughy goodness waiting for me in the freezer but the scale dictates I keep those sorts of breakfast to a minimum.  Not only that, I simply feel better if my morning is not begun with a sugar overload.  Those are words my teen self would rebel at, but my thirty-something year old self knows better.

This is where Quinoa comes into play. Most Sunday afternoons will find a pot of Quinoa boiling on my stove top.  I love to eat it cold, with fruit, and vanilla soy milk in the mornings.  I have found a routine that works pretty well even for this morning hating woman.  It’s a plan that can be altered on those days to tossing a container in a bag and eating said breakfast at my desk as I log into the various programs at work.  Yes, I do prefer to consume my breakfast at the kitchen table, just after taking the pup on a long walk.  However, if I’m honest not all mornings look that way.  My goal is that MORE mornings look like that than the other variety.  It’s good to have goals in life 🙂

My go to breakfast –

Put pot of water and quinoa on the stove to boil.  Add a tablespoon of cinnamon, a dash of nutmeg, a splash of vanilla, some cardamon if I’m feeling adventurous.  The only truly critical part is the cinnamon.  Lots and lots of cinnamon.  Enough to turn the water muddy brown.  Enough to stain your quinoa.  When it does that?  You have enough cinnamon.

I am a multi-tasker.  Therefore I usually set this to boiling while I’m putting a load of laundry in or in between steps on the latest craft project.  When I wander by the stove a few minutes later and the water is at a rapid boil, I simply turn it off.  I don’t move it, I just turn the little knob to “off”.  I walk away.  I work my way down my to-do list a little bit more.  I wander back over once all the water has been absorbed by the quinoa.  I stir it up this time leaving the lid off of the pot.  I stir it the next few times I pass by the stove.

When the quinoa has cooled I divide it among five of my tupperware containers.  I toss some fresh sliced strawberries or some blueberries on there.  If there happens to be nectarines, or peaches, or plums in the crisper drawer I might add slices of those.  I toss the containers in the fridge, ready for the crazy mornings of my week.

In the morning, after the alarm clatters at me raising me from my slumber and my pups immediate needs are provided for I reach for one of those containers.  I add in a generous splash of vanilla soy milk and I eat.  It keeps me full until lunch and it brightens my mornings with the burst of fruit and the warmth of cinnamon complimented by the creamy vanilla.  It’s breakfast for the morning hating girl.

Scrambled Eggs

This past weekend I wandered into sis’s kitchen with her and together we began cooking breakfast.  We wanted something simple, scrambled eggs seem to fit the bill nicely.  I remembered the mushrooms leftover after last nights salad and pilfered those out of the crisper drawer. We jabbered and sipped coffee as I sauteed those mushrooms in a small pat of butter, butter pulled from a fresh stick since her house it not totally gluten free.  She cracked the eggs as I 05tossed the mushrooms around waiting for them to get soft, dark brown and deep gray, with just a hint of crispy left when you bite them.  Food should never be soggy, at least not if I am going to eat it.  I threw the eggs mixed with a touch of milk in with the mushroom as she started doing the dishes.

Soon we were all back at the table again, talking and looking at the Sunday morning ads.  The room went still, and suddenly no one was talking or rustling pages.  I looked up at sis, waiting for her to tell me what had happened.  I smiled and laughed when she mumbled “This is REALLY good” with food still in her mouth.
Though I would have loved a savory frittata filled with colorful vegetables and dressed with fresh herbs to feed the ones I love, nothing makes me happier than a table stunned to silence by simple goodness.