breakfast for dinner, italian style

My grandfather, Chip, made a great breakfast – the kind that just can’t be replicated.  I don’t know whether it was some special ingredient (doubtful, though something tells me he used bacon drippings for frying his eggs), the years of culinary patina on his griddle (possible, though even my grandmother’s eggs don’t quite equal Chip’s), or the fact that he whistled “Raindrops Keep Fallin’ on My Head” while he made them (don’t tell me that’s not an ingredient).  But I think that it’s most likely all of those things, combined with the fact that he’s not around to make us those breakfasts anymore.  Whatever the culinary and emotional alchemy, they were excellent, and I miss them, even though I’m not much of a breakfast person.

Actually, that’s not entirely true.