On the few occasions when my grandfather wasn’t at the cabin to cook breakfast for us and my father was entrenched in a project by the time we were ready to eat we had to fend for ourselves. That usually meant cereal.
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At the cabin, my grandfather was a short-order cook extraordinaire: frying potatoes, toasting bread over an open flame and cooking eggs by the dozen without ever breaking a yolk—and in cast iron skillets no less.
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Breakfast is the most important meal of the day at the cabin. We eat it mid-morning and it keeps us going all day.
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