Sunday morning breakfast has always been special in my life. I imagine it is im most families. Growing up Catholic meant we could not eat anything from midnight Saturday until after we received communion at Mass on Sunday. But—then we went home to a feast. That church rule has been changed,thank God, but the feast continues (thank God again).

If I have been good all week and stuck to my diet I can pig out on Sunday morning. And I really look forward to it. A week of oatmeal or cold cereal means Sunday morning can’t get here soon enough. And this morning (daylight savings)it is even an hour sooner.

Usually I make a batch of corn muffins and while they are baking I make the homefries, potatoes are boiled first and then thrown in the frying pan over the onion that has been simmering to a golden brown. Then the other pan has the bacon or ham or both, or sometimes sausages. If its bacon some of the grease (not too much) gets drizzled over the spuds.
The coffee (the only cup of the week, but you have to have it on Sunday)is brewing and smells great, as does the bacon. If I have guests that aroma usually brings them, half-asleep into the kitchen). I always leave a little of the bacon fat in the fry pan and cook my eggs sunny side up with the bacon fat spooned over the yolks to cook them. Then I open the oven and smell those muffins—oh man !!!!!! where is the butter.

Well today is Sunday and it is morning and I’m heading for the kitchen–see y’all later. Bon Appetit Ancient Mariner!!!!!!!!!!