My father always insisted on an early Christmas breakfast -- a huge feast of eggs poached in milk, and bacon and hashbrowns and pancakes and marmalade and grapefruit and a sort of sweetened toast whose name I can't remember, but it tasted like corrugated cardboard with cinnamon and sugar sprinkled on top.
Read the rest of "A Child's Christmas in Pierre" by J. Bottum.
[Photo by Brooke Lark at Unsplash]
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