February 18, 2013
I believe this about breakfast: you absolutely must eat a healthy one.
The breakfast I eat in Sicily goes against everything I hold true.
I ingest a big fat brioche (brioscia) oozing with chocolate or pistachio paste, snowy with powdered sugar. Along with a sugary shot of caffeine.
But the guilt I feel is only a passing blip on the radar of my emotions before Euphoria sets in. Does my lack of shame stem from the fact that everyone else on the island is doing it, too?
Or because, to get my hands on these treats, I have to haul myself down one hundred steps?
And then haul myself back up like some kind of alpinist?
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