i realize that some of you are currently debating the mental health of a woman so utterly enamored by her lackluster breakfasts, but i can’t help myself. and besides, i think i might be letting you in on a secret that you don’t know.
i eat stinky cheese for breakfast.
if james and i enjoy a triple-crème after dinner, you can bet your bottom dollar i will be sneaking downstairs in the morning to smear the remainders on a slice of toasty baguette. long before i ever set foot in france, my french godmother would make me stinky tartines for breakfast and i’ve been hooked ever since.