I’m a huge fan of breakfast, and have made it my mission to explore “the most important meal of the day” wherever I go. 

I remember my first encounter with a decadent, but not too sweet chocolate cake in Italy, hold Indian idli in something like mythic status, and have always had a fondness for American diners.  Whether it’s Spanish buñuelos, Moroccan msemen, or American diner fare, — food culture and local foodways are the quickest entrée into any culture, and breakfast may well be the meal that most often distinguishes one culture from another.  I believe the foods we choose to start our day often define the rest of our experiences.

When I first started writing about breakfast whenever I traveled, the research was maddeningly difficult.  It can be nearly impossible to unearth the “authentic local” breakfast staples.  As most people the world over lead hectic lives, they often skip breakfast or just grab whatever is around.  As a result, that which we call “authentic” breakfast fare in any country is probably just what we see in cafes and restaurants, hotels and B&Bs, which may be a local standard, or may just be what the local tourist trade presents as “traditional.”  And, if it’s at all authentic, it may be what most locals eat only on special occasions. 

For example, here in Ireland, the “Full Irish” breakfast (a pile of pork, potatoes, eggs, and bread) is called a “fry up,”  and generally only eaten at home on special occasions, but is a staple in restaurants, because that’s what travelers expect.  So, in the name off full disclosure, I confess that what follows is what I’ve found around world, but may not be exactly everyday local fare.  That said, if you go, you should find all of these things quite easily.

Breakfast Cake in Rome

Perhaps my fondest travel/breakfast moment came in 2012, on my first visit to Rome.  Staying at a fairly bog standard (Irish slang for ordinary) Airbnb, I was surprised to see a powdered sugar-dusted chocolate cake (like a Torta Caprese) on the breakfast buffet. 

“Cake for breakfast,” thought I.  “How civilized.”  And, while it was neither over-the-top sweet, nor decadently rich, it was a marvelous way to start the day alongside some fruit and a good cup of Italian coffee.

Now, I know that having something sweet for breakfast is not a unique concept, and breakfast cake is certainly not universal in Italy, but I have noticed that a restrained, not-too-sweet, cake is often offered as an accompaniment to morning coffee and other breakfast items in Italy, particularly on hotel buffets. 

This practice struck me as so soul-nourishingly restorative that my wife and I have taken to limiting our sweets during the week, but indulge in a different home-baked “breakfast cake” every weekend. We’ll always have Rome.

Indian Idli in Maryland and New Delhi

When my wife, whose family is originally from India, and I got married, we planned a somewhat traditional Indian wedding, including a breakfast beforehand.  And, as our plans took shape, calls, pleas, and proclamations from family came in hard and fast.

“Are you serving idli?”

“You are serving idli, aren’t you?”

“Oh, there’s going to be idli.”

I’d never heard of idli (also written idly) at that point.  But it was spoken of in such rapturous tones that by the time the wedding rolled around, I was expecting great things from idli. These pillowy cakes made from ground rice, dal, and spices are steamed, and then dipped into sambar, rasam, or any one of a number of different chutneys or sauces based on regional preferences.

While the wedding idli were good, it wasn’t until we traveled to India for the first time, and I tried them in an environment where they are not just an occasional treat but a daily staple in restaurants, buffets, and many homes, that I “got it.”  

The ground dal/rice surface texture is a bit course and holds the sauce in tiny crevices and pockets, but the steamed pillows are light and ethereal. The result is a moist, savory mouthful that both melts in your mouth and has a pleasant, lasting chew to it.

Spanish Buñuelos in Valencia, Spain

Our Airbnb in Valencia was in a quiet residential neighborhood.  Heading out in the mornings I was always amazed to see lines of businessmen and women crowding the Churros and Buñuelos stand on Carrer de Colón, the busy street that runs towards the bull ring at Place de Toros and the north train station.  Glancing at the offerings at the stand, I was initially dismissive of what looked like dry, boring lumps of fried dough. 

But, as I saw buñuelos everywhere over the next few days, including at Santa Catalina, the sublime and world-renowned horchateria, I gave in (as I do with most things fried), and ordered a modest bag of two buñuelos. After all, I’d already succumbed to churros and chocolate – another traditional fried dough/drink temptation.

The buñuelos were fresh and hot from the fryer, golden, and crispy outside, but tender, dry, and chewy inside.  These were plain, but could also be had dusted with sugar, and a few other topping choices.  We even found them made with squash blossoms (Buñuelos de calabaza).

Across Valencia and the rest of Spain, and in many other parts of the world, buñuelos seem to come in just about every conceivable shape and size.  I imagine this to be a result of a batter that is hard to tame once it hits the boiling oil, and there’s no need pretty them up; connoisseurs of fried dough (like myself) tend not to be too picky about presentation.

Though not strictly for breakfast, the buñuelos stand near my house did a brisk trade with morning commuters, and often paired a sack of fried golden nuggets with coffee, making it a fairly sublime commuter breakfast, and more or less de rigueur in Valencia, where, fresh Valencian orange juice (thanks to the stunning orange trees), coffee, and a buñuelos (or pastry) seem to be the standard cafe breakfast.  Rarely did I see any big “American-style” breakfasts overflowing the plate.

American Diners

Growing up in the American South, I’ve always had a thing for buttermilk biscuits.  And, being American, and loving food, particularly breakfast, it’s no surprise that the American diner experience is one of my all-time favorites. 

Yes, it’s typically an obscene amount of food, and the coffee is generally bland. 

But, whether it’s the Red Hut in South Lake Tahoe (where I had the best biscuits and gravy I’ve ever had outside of the South), Slim Goodies in New Orleans (where I bought breakfast for two cops heading out to work their Mardi Gras parade beat), South Boston’s My Diner (the quintessential working man’s diner), or simply a Waffle House (found at virtually every interstate exit in the American South), I love waitresses that call you “hon,” the bottomless cups of coffee, waffles done just right, crispy hash browns, eggs, pancakes, bacon cooked to order, and PIE. Nobody in a diner will judge you for having pie for breakfast. 

Plus, there’s something about the counter experience at a diner.  Watching the short order cooks sling the raw ingredients of their art is nothing short of magical.

Yes, I love breakfast, and have loved it all around world, in more places than I can detail here. 

From the lavish breakfast buffet on a Norwegian winter cruise ship, to msemen and marmalade in Morocco, to croissants (or pan au chocolate) and coffee in Paris, I love getting up and out early in an unfamiliar city, not knowing what I’ll find, and watching the city come alive.  Finding my way into a culture through its morning rituals helps me feel somehow connected to that place in a way nothing else does.

It may be one of the last true adventures of discovery available to the modern traveler.

Cheers,

Glenn K

Glenn Kaufmann is a freelance travel, food, and film journalist based in Dublin, Ireland.  As a child of the American South, he has a weakness for buttermilk biscuits.  As an escapee from Los Angeles, he has a love for seeing beaches and deserts in the same day. And, now, in Ireland, he’s developed a fondness for whiskey (and a collection to match).