The Laws of Breakfast Dynamics

(Or: On the Glory of Chicken Fried Steak)

I flew back to the U.S. last fall to attend the wedding of two friends--Damon and Laura. Although they live in Seattle, the wedding took place in Ithaca, New York. On a side note, if there is a prettier campus than Cornell, I don’t know of it. I spent a summer there taking some classes at Cornell, and I spent a lot of time exploring gorges and hiking trails that I should have spent studying. I’m sure that this is a common hazard among those who attend Cornell or Ithaca College.

Although this beauty is undeniable in the summer and fall, I am glad I’m not there right now, a few days after Christmas. I picture a scene from the third circle of hell (courtesy of Dante), where people wander in a frigid slush of freezing rain, hail and black snow. Dante reserved this place for gluttons, and though there are probably a few gluttons in Ithaca, I’m sure the whole town doesn’t deserve to suffer for the sins of a few. If there are Ithacans out there who can vouch for your town’s charms during the bleak December, please chime in.

Turning from damnation back to the story, the wedding was really cool. Fun people, wonderful food, great music, decorations glorifying small woodland mammals--all the things you expect from a memorable wedding. But back to the point of this story: diner food. Not far from my hotel was a nondescript diner. I didn’t really notice it until I was casting around for a place to eat on the morning I had to drive back to Newark International Airport.

As far as diners go, it probably wasn’t exceptional, but for a guy living in a diner-free zone, namely all of Europe, it was pretty cool. I ordered the Chicken Fried Steak with gravy, hash browns, eggs overeasy, English muffins. The only thing missing was grits. During my breakfast, I discovered that I really miss grits. Something about that corn flavor with butter, salt and pepper. I could eat of tub of that for some reason. And decent coffee. But then I remembered the First Law of Breakfast Dynamics: the quality of diner coffee is inversely proportional to the quality of its food. 

The Second Law of Breakfast Dynamics also applied, which states that Chicken Fried Anything is mysteriously Delicious and Comforting for breakfast. I’m not sure what goes into the average Chicken Fried Anything, but there is something epiphanal about greasy meaty breading smothered in spicy gravy. When Martin Luther did his business on the Wittenberg Door, it was probably after a meal of Chicken Fried Mutton or something. (I know that sounds bad, but NO, it wasn’t THAT kind of business. Look it up.) There is a corollary to the Second Law that takes effect in the presence of Loco Moco--the Hawaiian breakfast mess that is equally delicious and comforting. This nascent area of study is starved for further investigation. 

The Third Law of Breakfast Dynamics is the Sweet Vs. Savory Breakfast Conflict. I refer to the instant regret that arrives with your plate of food. If you ordered the short stack of pancakes, it is assured that you will suddenly crave the bacon and eggs of your dining companions. If you get the farmers’ scramble you will covet your neighbor’s warm cinnamon roll. The only solution, of course, is to get both.

Regretfully, I didn’t remember the Third Law in time, a shortcoming that befalls most patrons of the breakfast arts from time to time. I could have and should have ordered that cinnamon roll. Fortunately, I hit upon the Fourth Law of Breakfast Dynamics almost by accident: Always make your last bite a flavor that you would like to keep tasting over and over until lunchtime. As it was, I was tasting chicken fried steak (in a good way!) all the way from Ithaca to Newark.

As I was blasting toward Newark at 90mph, I attributed the lack of speed traps to the Fifth Law of Breakfast Dynamics, which only applies to law enforcement officers: a body at rest in a booth tends to remain at rest in a booth. If you doubt the Scientific Method of this (being Observable, Measurable and Repeatable), my brother Randy (a Denver Police Sergeant) has been testing a proof of it every morning for twenty-two years. But he’s another story.