Whenever I meet a man and tell him I’m writing a cookbook, no matter the man, the response is always the same: “I love to cook, too; I make a mean breakfast.”
My ex boyfriend prided himself in all three—and sometimes four—meals of the day, but it was his lavish breakfast of eggs Benedict with maple-infused hollandaise and pork tenderloin that always sent me straight back into his bed until the mid afternoon.
Why is it that men perfect the art of breakfast before a rare t-bone
or mushroom risotto? And why do they take such pride in the first meal of the day? Is it a sex thing? Or is it just the first (and sometimes only) meal men choose to do well?
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