Mission: American Breakfast

Rumblings of an American Breakfast party have been happening for weeks at my apartment, so I finally put the plan into action and made it official. An invitation was sent to my roommates and friends, tempting them with foreign delights like Aunt Jemima and exotic delicacies like chocolate chip panckakes (made from Bisquick of course).

But here in Italy, the land of a million dietary rules, eating fried bacon, eggs, hashbrowns and pancakes at first rise is considered an absurdity. So to appease my roommates' apprehension, I decided to cook our American Breakfast for dinner.

When 7pm came around, Stephanie rolled up our sleeves and got back to our roots for a good ol' fashioned American shmorgasboard.

Our American Breakfast (dinner)

• 15 eggs, scrambled and mixed with American cheese




• A dozen sausages, grilled to perfection
  
• Strips of pancetta (as close as I could find to bacon) fried to a crisp




• Hashbrowns: an entire bag of potatoes, shreaded and mixed with onions, and olive oil
  
• French toast: slices of whole wheat bread dipped in a mixture of egg, cocoa (substitute for cinnamon) and milk, an grilled to a golden brown
  
• Bisquick Shake n' Pour pancake mix (with chocolate chips)

The Italian stovetop in my kitchen didn't know what hit it. All 4 burners were firing at once, butter was splattering, the sausages were spitting and we were dripping pancake mix everywhere! I felt like a kid again.

One hour later we threw on some American tunes and had ourselves a real feast. Stephanie and I received complimenti for our eggs, hashbrowns and sausages but I'm not sure our dinner guests really warmed up to the idea of pancakes with syrup and butter.

They didn't know how to eat them either. Instinctually they picked up the pancakes with their hands and ate them dry, like you would Italian bread. They also at the french toast like it was plain toast (like an egg sandwhich). Steph and I giggled and galdly lent some important American Breakfast tips as we drenched our plates with Aunt Jemima.

Our guests called our American breakfast a bomba (bomb) and I don't disagree. It heavenly heavy and gloriously greasy. I felt, though, that it was my duty to broaden my roommates' horizons. They needed to know that there's more to breakfast than Mulino Bianco biscotti, a brioche and a pint-sized cup of caffè.

Mission Accomplished.