Every morning before the children woke up I would set the breakfast table. We would have what was left of yesterday’s baguette, honey, butter, biscuits and coffee. And always, always, always we had place settings. Even in the chaos of the morning when the kids were tired and I’d be trying to brush their hair as they squirmed and ate, when the Papa and Mamon were charging around trying to get ready for work, we would sit together, even if only for the five or so minutes it took to gulp down a coffee and a bite, and have breakfast.
That picture was actually our table. The kids had picked the plums from the tree in the garden the night before, Papa got the honey from his beekeeper friend with the best honey in Romania (or somewhere), and the table was well worn from years of family meals. They laughed when I told them how beautiful such a simple thing was, but it was just life, they said. We would tear a hunk of baguette off a smear it with honey, and that was it. And on Sundays, Papa would nip down to the boulangerie early for croissants and pain au chocolat – a ritual I still hold dear even in Germany. Breakfast was a way to be together, eat something sweet and delicious and do a tiny something enjoyable before the day began.
But if you fancy whipping up something different for breakfast, try the French kiddies’ favourite pancake recipe.