Huevos rancheros, México City
I love breakfast, or rather: the idea of
it. Breakfast is the ideal meal where my happy childhood memories reside
(along with my father’s spaghetti al ragù, which is what I wanted for
my sixteenth birthday along with the Go-go’s Vacation album.) The
perfume of coffee is a much better way to wake up instead of the cruel
shrill cry of the alarm clock. And even though I love its scent, I have
never been able to deal with it; I suppose that my experience with
coffee is what happens on a bad drug trip: paranoia, the shakes, cold
sweats, and headaches that last for days. Just say “no thanks” to the
dreaded coffee hangover kids.