I really had no idea what to doodlewash today so I decided to share my breakfast with you. Every Saturday and Sunday our morning ritual includes coffee along with pancakes with wild blueberries on top.
Food is deceptively difficult for me to doodlewash. And when you’re dealing with blueberry juice, it’s a fine line between making something that looks delectable and making something that looks like a pancake massacre. I decided to keep things simple and use just three colors: Quinacridone Gold, Dioxazine Purple and Perylene Maroon.
When Philippe first arrived from France, he made crêpes, but soon discovered the American breakfast was much simpler to create. Granted, our breakfast stops here and doesn’t include eggs, bacon, and steak. A mixture that seems grossly gluttonous unless you’re running marathons daily or happen to be an actual elephant.
Included on our menu is one serving of some show on Netflix, since we don’t have cable. Currently, our show is the Property Brothers, where two twins sell people grotesquely shabby homes and help them renovate them into their dream home. Seeing these “fixer upper” homes is truly a lesson in seeing just what some species of the human animal is capable of surviving in. And it’s probably not the best choice to accompany food, but we ran out of Family Guy and had to switch to something.
After pancakes, we’ll often run errands which includes a trip to our nearby Costco. Timing is extremely important as we don’t enjoy crowds and so we try to get there as soon as they open. Costco is a veritable zoo of humanity when you show up at the wrong time.
When Philippe first visited from Paris he was watching people tasting their way through the store and asked, “It’s 3:00pm… why are Americans always shoving food in their faces?” Just as I was about to defend my country, a Costco employee set out a large plate of chicken wings as a 6-person family appeared out of nowhere and we were almost trampled in the ensuing stampede. “Oh, c’est pas vrai!” he said, “It’s an intellectual misery!”
My first thought was that he would be boarding the next plane for Paris, and I was regretting my decision to bring him to Costco so soon in our relationship. I knew I didn’t have much time to get him out of there as there was another crowd of large people forming like vultures ready to attack the pizza rolls which were about to come out of the mini oven.
As I pushed the cart forward to quickly leave, I nearly crashed into a 500-pound woman in a Costco mobility scooter blocking our exit. How she had managed to get from a car and squeeze herself into the thing was a mystery, but she wasn’t leaving without a pizza roll. Philippe looked on horrified, and I was left speechless and embarrassed for my country. In desperation I screamed, “Meatballs! Aisle 3!” as the hungry crowd moved in the opposite direction, and we were able to make our escape.
Thankfully Philippe didn’t rush back to Paris, but seeing America through his eyes is always illuminating. I just can’t answer him as to why Americans always need to have a drink in their hand (“are they really that thirsty that they can’t wait until they’re home?” he asks). I know this country is insane, but it can also be quite a lot of fun. Just like having pancakes for breakfast.