I don’t have the organisational skills to make a cooked breakfast

My inability to multi-task makes cooking breakfast a major undertaking. The bacon may not get out alive.

I have a confession.

I’m terrible at multi-tasking.

Don’t try to have a conversation with me while I’m browsing the web because I swear I won’t hear you. If I’m chopping vegetables, for the Great Cat’s sake get me to put down the knife before you ask me what clothes I have to go in the wash.

I can’t even walk and chew gum.

In most aspects of my life, I’ve learned to compensate for my inability to multi-task.

The one place it still gets me every time?

Making a cooked breakfast.

What is a cooked breakfast?

I started writing this post assuming everyone knows what a cooked breakfast is. Then I went to Pixabay to look for images.

I typed “cooked breakfast” in the search, and it came back with this.

This is not a cooked breakfast
Not a cooked breakfast.

No, Pixabay. Just no.

Since Pixabay is my source of wisdom on everything Americans do and don’t know, let me explain a cooked breakfast to you the way I explained it Pixabay:

eggs bacon fried tomatoes sausages toast


To be fair, hubby and I disagree on what should be in a cooked breakfast.

Bread? Me: toasted with margarine. Him: fried in butter.

Eggs? Me: fried, smiling like suns, on the toast. Him: scrambled.

Bacon? Me: fried in parallel strips, crispy. Him: what’s this “parallel”? Either undercooked or burned.

Tomatoes? Me: sliced and fried, because then I can pretend my breakfast is healthy. Him: sliced and fried, because then you can pretend your breakfast is healthy.

Mushrooms? Me: get that devil stench away from my food. Him: fried, and did you realise they’re better if you don’t cook them until black?

Sausages? Everyone likes a nice sausage.

Black pudding? Me: I feel so sophisticated eating this foreign food. Him: another thing I can fry.

Baked beans? Me: no, the tomato sauce makes my toast soggy, and don’t think of letting them near my bacon. Him: but, vegetables!

Baked beans do not belong in a cooked breakfast.
Put them in a fancy bowl all you like. They still don’t belong in a cooked breakfast.

But why is making a cooked breakfast so hard?

Let me point out a few realities to you.

Buttered toast must have the margarine applied within ten seconds of the toaster popping up or the margarine sits around like the mounds of grease it is.

Eggs have to come straight out of a hot frying pan onto toast. Leave them sitting in the pan off the heat and they turn to rubber. Move them onto a plate as a temporary measure before shifting them onto the toast, and what are you trying to do? Destroy the universe?

Bacon must be browned evenly on both sides and eaten within three minutes of coming out of a hot pan. And it can’t be cooked in the same pan as eggs, tomatoes, or mushrooms. (Because soggy, soggy, stinky.)

My warming drawer died four years ago and is now home to three generations of dust bunny, the ugly cousin of the lesser spotted plot bunny.

My stove has two elements large enough for a frying pan, and each has two temperatures: barely warm and supernova.

(Can anyone tell me why when I search Pixabay for “stove element” it gives me pictures of brick walls?)

Not a hot element, or a glowing element, or any other kind of element.
This is what you wanted, right?

The deed

When I walk into the kitchen I already know the odds are against me, but I’m hungry and I’m going to try anyway.

Two frying pans on the front elements. Check.

Two slices of bread out of the freezer and into the toaster. Not down yet, just in.

A chunk of butter in each pan. (Still cold.)

Slice the tomatoes and mushrooms.

Am I ready? I can do anything to get more ready?

Let’s do this.

Frying pans on, but not the toaster yet because toast doesn’t take as long as eggs, right?

Are the pans hot yet? Flick water in them. Not yet.

Butter sizzles. How about now?


Toast down. Bacon in. Eggs in. Other fryable things everywhere.

Oh no, there’s eggshell in with the eggs. Try to fish it out, but I need to flip the bacon.

Now the toast’s up and I haven’t got the margarine out of the fridge. My ten seconds are ticking.

Margarine, knife. Why are there no knives in the drawer?

Ten seconds are up and I haven’t flipped the bacon or buttered the toast.

The pans have gone supernova. I’m being attacked by spitting bacon.

Turn down the heat.

I endeavour to flip the tomato slices and they slither away.

Now the toast is cold, bacon is burned, and the eggs still have the consistency of a slug trail.

Thank the Great Cat even a terrible cooked breakfast is pretty awesome.

Did someone say “bacon”?

Am I the only one who gets overwhelmed by having to time the toast correctly relative to the eggs? And does anyone want an oven going cheap? It kind of works.

Put your email in the box to hear more of my ramblings. May contain bacon.

Author: A.S. Akkalon

By day, A.S. Akkalon works in an office where the computers outnumber the suits of armour more than two-to-one. By night, she puts dreams of medieval castles, swords, and dragons onto paper.

18 thoughts on “I don’t have the organisational skills to make a cooked breakfast”

  1. Your post made me chuckle.

    Makes me realize how different things are. Your cooked breakfast is like a feast. My idea of cooked breakfast is if its warm πŸ™‚

    We drink smoothies most days, so that might be part of it. The kids like peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Fast. Easy. Nutritious enough. And we buy our bacon pre-cooked. Microwave for 10 seconds a slice nd it comes out perfect every time.

    1. Exactly! A cooked breakfast should be a feast, and I should have a whole kitchen staff to make it.

      I’d love to drink more smoothies, and I might if I can convince hubby that they’re real food.

      And pre-cooked bacon? You’re messing with me.

  2. There’s always cornflakes. πŸ™‚ … it took me long years of practice to get the timing of a cooked breakfast right … I reckon my success rate is currently at 75-80% … on a good day. πŸ™‚

    1. Great to have you back!

      Cornflakes: the consolation prize for when your cooking sucks. They should use that for their marketing. Your 75-80% is impressive. I’m more 40-50%.

  3. Oh dear, I swear I’ve told you before, but … Bake your bacon! 😁 I mean, bake and bacon are practically the same word. Plus, it takes at least twenty minutes (more time for cutting and frying other things) and there’s no flipping. As a bonus, the strips come out perfectly straight. I swear it’ll change your life.

    But in other news, I’m so glad you’re back. I chuckled all the way through, and completely agree regarding the beans.

    1. I’ve missed your wisdom so much! All right, I swear next time I cook bacon I’ll try the oven thing. But if it turns out terrible you’ll owe me a packet of bacon. πŸ˜‰

  4. nice to see you back! Did you know if you pop the toast down at the same time eggs start boiling, they will be soft boiled when the toast is done? Saves frying and thinking.

    1. Great to see you, Cindy!

      No, I didn’t know that. Talk about intelligent design – so considerate for those of us who prefer to avoid thinking. πŸ˜‰

  5. I’m not above popping the toast in the microwave for a few seconds. (Or the butter, but that generally winds up having to be ladled over my toast.) There’s a 24-hour diner or two between me and having to cook for real.
    Lately, though, I’ve been on a bagels and lox kick. It’s filling enough to count as “real” breakfast, and still within my skill set.

    1. Toast in the microwave? What a cheat. I love it!

      A bagel and lox is totally real breakfast, no inverted commas required. (And I just learned something, because I’d never heard of lox and so I had to google it.)

  6. Oh, I needed to read this today for sure. Timing is the worst aspect of cooking to me and one of the hardest, especially if you’re doing something new or a bunch of things at different temperatures. The worst part is trying to build time to enjoy your creation–leisurely, savoring it–and not sit there and remember all the freaking dishes you’ll have to clean pretty soon.

    1. Great to know it’s not just me. And don’t get me started on my hate affair with dishes – that could be a whole post, but it would be a terribly depressing one.

  7. Oh, I have so missed the giggles I get only from reading your posts. But I feel a pang of guilt: given my remove as a Yank, compassion urges me to point out to you that British/Canadian/Antipodean cooked breakfasts are impossible for one cook to properly turn out. You need a staff similar to the downstairs crew in Downton Abbey. Also, baked beans at breakfast are Just. Wrong.

    1. Billy! It’s so great to hear from you, and thank you for making me feel so welcome. πŸ™‚ I can’t throw out enough apologies for disappearing so suddenly and so completely. The short version is that I caught a case of overwhelm. The long version might have to wait for my monthly email, where I can explain to my friends without laying out a permanent record for the whole world to see.

      I’m slowly stepping back into things now and writing at least a word every day, which feels great. Long may it last!

      I hope you’re doing well. I’m not on Twitter at the moment, but I’m always keen to talk via email, a.s.akkalon@gmail.com.

  8. Laughed out loud at the ‘why aren’t there any knives in the drawer?’ Every time!

    You missed another breakfast hazard: leaving your butter sizzling for a second too long, burning it and ruining the whole breakfast. It’s like catching your foot on the first hurdle and faceplanting the ground.

    1. So true. Butter is sizzling and good one instant, you look away, and when you look back butter is angry and brown. After a while you learn to eat the food anyway. πŸ˜‰

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