colazione americana

Muffins were being eaten with forks and knives, and people didn't quite know where to put the syrup, but I can assure you - no one left hungry.

Feeding breakfast to our friends, in our favorite bar, came out of a conversation we had over aperitivo with the bar owner back in June. We had been talking about food and the question of what is truly American food came up. We decided that American breakfast was a uniquely-fashioned meal and that maybe it was one of the best examples of real American food. And so the breakfast event was born - why not invite friends to the bar, take over the kitchen, and share some waffles with the crowd? Not to mention the perfectly-made American coffee (and orange juice) offered by our Italian hosts.



Up to their elbows in waffles, our Italian friends had questions like, "Do Americans really eat all of this for breakfast?" while the Americans asked, "Where did you find the bacon?" An enlightening morning for all, no? We explained to the Italians that eating all of these things at once was really more of a weekend activity while the Americans were relieved to find out that smoked pancetta doubles as bacon when fried in a pan.

Small sidenote on bacon procurement: When Stefano went to the store to buy the bacon (ie: smoked pancetta) he ordered a quantity that was large enough to feed 20 people. The butcher looked at him as if he were crazy and asked if he really meant to order a far smaller amount. No, Stefano insisted, I want that previously-unheard-of gigantic quantity. When the butcher asked if he wanted one large slab, Stefano insisted he wanted it thinly sliced. Met with a confused stare Stefano explained that he was feeding a large group for breakfast. Only then did the butcher chime in with, "Oh, right, you people eat this for breakfast."

Yes, "us people" eat it for breakfast. And when you make scrambled eggs in the bacon pan, everyone - including "you Italians" - asks for seconds. Do not doubt the power of bacon.



Stefano was the main architect of the breakfast and started crafting the meal the day before. He not only braved the Italian supermarket battleground to acquire the ingredients, but also made three dozen muffins and a large bucket of batter. (Thanks also to our allies in the US who mailed crucial ingredients not easily found on this side of the Atlantic.)

On the day of the breakfast we went to the bar several hours early to familiarize ourselves with the kitchen and to start making the piles of waffles (original and chocolate chip), pancakes (original and blueberry), scrambled eggs and bacon. The only casualty of the morning was the hash browns which despite last minute resuscitation attempts by our friend, the owner of the bar and our right-hand man all morning, went down in a smoky haze. Alas. Even culinary experts can't save hash browns gone wrong.



It was a great morning and it felt a bit like home with the busy kitchen, everyone rushing about to be ready in time, and a lack of pot holders at the ready. There was the profumo of waffles, the sizzle of bacon, and the chatter of friends. Only this time the chatter was in Italian and English. And there was a dog at the table.



But in Italy there's always a dog at the table. This time it was the waffles that were special.