My parents were seriously late sleepers and I actually credit that as one of the major reasons I became a chef. There was no one up to cook breakfast for me. I would wait and watch cartoons and eventually end up foraging in the cupboards for something to eat. Early “Chopped” format breakfasts. Four ingredients, thirty minutes, hungry child. I always gravitated to the Fanny Farmer cookbook because the recipes seemed short and simple enough. It was the first time I remember making something and feeling the essence of timing in cooking: the buttered dish, the preheated oven and the melted butter cooling slightly while I gathered and blended all the other ingredients. SO satisfying. And so was the amazed look on my mom’s face when she would stumble into the kitchen and see me eating a wedge of this slathered in jam.