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Black Coffee – “Cream and sugar,” your friend whimpers, hunching his untoned shoulders. The waiter turns to you and you lean back in your chair, cracking your trademark confident grin. Flexing your almost-absurdly well developed shoulders and scratching your thick, testosterone-dripping stubble. You flick a pair of sunglasses out from inside your shirtsleeve and slide them smoothly onto your face. “Just black,” you say, casually fending off a crowd of swooning women with your perfectly developed, seven-days-a-week-in-the-Plex, vein-distending, muscle-bulging fingers. The waiter pauses and then slowly salutes. “You glorious bastard,” he says. “Calm down,” you say, in your gruff and yet soothing voice. “I’m nobody special, just a guy who likes his coffee black, his friends loyal, and his country free.” In the distance someone is playing a trumpet. The waiter returns with the two cups of coffee. Your friend sips his cream and sugar-filled pathetic-juice in a particularly sad and lonely way, while you down your black coffee in one swig. “Tastes terrible,” you grunt. “But thankfully I’m full of self-hatred and feel the need to mortify my flesh through the consumption of bitter and unseasoned goods.” Wait, what? The vision is fading. You wake up face down in the middle of the Chocolate Bar. As you push yourself up, you see that literally no one cares that you just fainted. Stretching your back, you look over to the counter and notice a woman yelling at you. “Do you still want your nonfat cinnamon swirl mochachino latte?” she says. “Did you add the pumpkin spice flavor shot?” you ask. She nods and you take your drink. “Have a nice day,” she says. “I hate myself,” you respond, flashing your trademark awkward grimace.
French Toast – What food isn’t improved by adding the word French to it? Fries? Dips? Dressing? Onion Soup? I was eating raw onions in tomato broth for years until I realized the French had figured out a better way. But above all of these is the breakfast dish we here at The Heights like to call “Shloobert.” That’s our word for French toast. Get it? No? Well I suppose you just don’t understand the sophisticated linguistic humor that went into making funny noises for a couple of minutes and then writing down the one that sounded the most phonetically writable. Anyway, we love French toast. It’s the best of the toasts.
Eggs – So versatile! If there’s one quality we want in our food, it’s versatility. Boil ’em, mash ’em, stick ’em in a stew. Or do one of the regular things with them, such as fry them or create a delightful little omelette. No better way to start the day than with a couple of eggs. And some bacon. Couple of sausages. Apple fritter. Muffin. Muffins. Many muffins. Bagel. Bagel sandwich. English muffin. English muffin sandwich. Hash browns. Home fries. I’m out of eggs, bring me more.
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Eating Way Too Much Breakfast – After shoveling that last forkful of cinnamon bun into your face, it usually takes about two seconds to realize that you just ate an absurd amount of breakfast food in one sitting. When you stand up, you can feel your stomach bulging outward with the pressure of all those beautiful, beautiful breakfast foods. As you stagger off toward class, one hand clutching your heart, the other your gut, you know that it was all worth it.
Featured Image by Kelsey McGee / Heights Editor
