Marmelade...

When I was a little Deana, I always loved having breakfast with my grandparents. Sure, Grandpa could cook up a great big breakfast, full with eggs and meats and potatoes, sometimes cooked outside over a smokey fire. But my favorite part was the toast.

I've always had a silly morning stomach. I almost never wake up hungry. Almost never like to wake to the smell of food cooking. But, I knew then and I know now that if I don't eat even a little something, I'll drag through until lunch. So, I'll often eat a slice or two of toast.

In order for Grandma to make enough toast for all of us, she would use the broiler, or the toaster oven. I would help slather the butter on all the pieces so it could melt into the toast as it cooked. Then, we had our choice of jams, all homemade. Red plum, boysenberry, apple butter, and orange marmelade. I would eat all of them, but my favorite was the orange marmelade.

I first tried it because Paddington Bear loved it...and he lived in England, and from a very early age I was smitten with England. I don't remember my siblings sharing my fondness for the bitter chunky jam, instead going for the sweet stuff, leaving it for me and my grandparents.

It's still not a shared flavor in my house, but I still love it. When I woke up this morning, and opened the blinds to find a heavy grey sky, it took me back to an English morning...so I thought I needed an English breakfast. Still not an eggy meaty heavy breakfast, but a breakfast I eat in England. Toast, tea, and orange marmelade.

When I was last there, I picked up a tin of tea from Harrod's, and as we were leaving the airport, took the extra jam from my breakfast...orange marmelade.



It turned my regular Monday morning into something special. Memories of breakfasts in my favorite places, with my favorite people.



And now what do I see? The sun peaking through the grey and blue sky.