Sunday mornings are the best. Last year I would always wake up semi-early and grab the house’s copy of the Sunday Times before anyone else could get to it (this became a hit-or-miss adventure second semester when a puzzle enthusiast came back from abroad. Sometimes just the magazine section would be gone, but sometimes she’d take the whole paper and I’d never see it), and head over to the dining hall for breakfast. It would usually be pretty empty, since the dining halls serve brunch on the weekends, and that doesn’t open until 11, but they also offer (a much less exciting) breakfast for athletes and early risers. I would get a bowl of grapenuts, granola, yogurt, and whatever fruit was available, and read the paper. The Sunday Times takes about two hours to read, cover to cover, and I would usually have just enough time to read the good stuff (Front page, Week in Review, Arts, Travel, Magazine, and Style) before heading to Mass. I loved my church in Northampton- it was small, and friendly, and decently attended for a Catholic church in the most liberal town ever. Sunday mornings were so pleasant. They’re still good, but different. As much as I love cooking for myself, I sometimes miss the dining hall. Today, for example, I had leftover peach rhubarb crumble (delicious, but I still haven’t figured out the right amount of fat to use in the topping, so it’s still too dusty. Peaches are rhubarb aren’t really in season at the same time, but we got the last hold out rhubarb at the market last week, and they work well together), and a cold rabbit meatball, skewered on the end of a fork and eaten like a lollypop. I do love cold meatballs, more than warm ones. It wasn’t a bad breakfast, and I quite enjoyed it, but it was unusual.
Sunday is a leisurely breakfast day, but it’s also a homework day, and I have my work cut out for me. I have a test on Tuesday, and I really really want to kill it. I want to wreck the curve. 🙂