Just when I thought I had felt all the guilt over food that I could failing to keep the cookie jar stocked, reaching for a frozen pizza too often, that sort of thing a colleague of mine found a new vein to tap.

A self-described non-cook, she let it slip last week that she's fixed breakfast for her kids (now 18 and 14) each and every school day of their lives.

That included some main breakfast item pancakes sometimes, cold cereal often plus bagels or toast, milk or juice and always cut-up fresh fruit.

"If breakfast really is the most important meal of the day, and I believe it is, then this is the least I can do as a parent, don't you think?" she said.

"Um, well. . . . of course," I stuttered over the hum of the guilt-o-meter, then at full throttle.

I grew up like that, with not only breakfast ready for me each school morning but a warm breakfast, with fried or scrambled eggs, oatmeal or Malt-O-Meal, bacon or sausage, and the requisite juices and milk. Cold cereal was a second-class alternative reserved for self-serve weekends.

I just never got in that groove. As a working mom, I relied on the baby sitter, then the day care center, to feed my little ones breakfast. During the school years, setting out cereal boxes and milk was about all I could muster.

That's reality, and it's too late to change it. The daughters are all in college now, and this summer presents my last opportunity to regularly cook any meals for them. Next summer, I've been informed, both the younger daughters will be staying in their college towns.

Seeing this as a motherly Last Chance, I sat them down and pressed them for favorite foods that I might fix for them over the next three months. Until the conversation dissolved into a gigglefest of childhood food memories, they had me scribbling frantically to record all their wishes.

From jambalaya to homemade macaroni and cheese to chicken tetrazzini casserole (with its can of cream of chicken soup), from red velvet cake to pumpkin pie to homemade vanilla pudding, I sensed a few themes: Simple is better. Tradition is important. And please don't forget dessert.

The final list included 12 main dishes, six side dishes and 13 desserts.

Where were they all those times I asked "What do you want for dinner?"

Oh, well. With all of us at the kitchen table, I decided to press further. Their comments had me wondering why I ever bothered to feel any guilt. Among the positives they listed about their upbringing under my kitchen reign:

I taught them to embrace all kinds of foods.

I taught them manners. ("So many people in college have bad manners, you wouldn't believe it!")

And even though I felt I never had enough time to instruct them in the kitchen, they remember otherwise.

"You taught us how to cook, and that's pretty important," said one.

"You made us those cool Mickey Mouse aprons. (I'd forgotten.) . . . You made cooking fun."

Even the healthy eating edicts seem to have been badges of honor, not acts of oppression. One thanked me (!) for buying only whole- wheat bread and skim milk and for banning sugared cereals.

"And we hardly ever had junk food," she added

"We almost never had soda, too, for which I'm glad because now we just drink water."

"I can't stand soda."

My job duties, which had me testing recipes almost weekly, spawned more positive memories.

"It was good for bragging rights," said one, recalling a meal where we had ostrich. "You know, Guess what we had last night . . . ?' "

Then I asked The Question: Did it bother them that I rarely fixed them breakfast?

Apparently not.

"Even though you didn't often make us breakfast," said one, "you taught us that it's the most important meal of the day." Consequently, she said, she ate breakfast every day last year at college.

And both were able to recall several breakfast dishes of mine, proving that I wasn't always a morning slacker. One was something we call Ricotta Toast, an idea I picked up in a healthy breakfast cookbook years ago.

It's so simple, and it's perfect for this time of year: Just toast a slice of bread (preferably whole-wheat), then immediately spread on a thick layer of low-fat ricotta cheese. Drizzle on honey to taste and swirl the honey into the ricotta with a spreading knife. Sprinkle on a little ground cinnamon, then pack on a single layer of sliced ripe fresh strawberries. (Blueberries also work, but strawberries are better.) Microwave uncovered about 45 seconds to 1 minute. Eat with a fork.

Tasting of cheesecake, it's like dessert for breakfast.

And there's no cause for guilt in that.

Nancy J. Stohs is food editor of the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel. You can e-mail her at nstohs@journalsentinel.com.

Copyright 2005, Journal Sentinel Inc. All rights reserved. (Note: This notice does not apply to those news items already copyrighted and received through wire services or other media.)

Copyright 2005 Journal Sentinel Inc. Note: This notice does not apply to those news items already copyrighted and received through wire services or other media
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