Andrew doesn't like breakfast

Andrew doesn't like breakfast. Add that to the list (i.e., pulpy juice, wet meat, beans, etc). He says that it's important to know what you don't like in life and I say it's important to like exactly the same things that I like so we can live a happy co-existence. I mean how is this supposed to work if you don't like everything that I like? And how am I supposed to become an amazing chef/food writer when my main eating partner only wants pizza & burgers? That's actually not true. He will eat most of what I put in front of him, even if it doesn't taste great. And on top of that, he'll usually say, in his sweet Australian accent, "This tastes beautiful, darling." He's so convincing that I actually believe him. But I digress, for this post is not about Andrew's likes or dislikes, it's about breakfast. It was another rainy morning here and I waited patiently for Andrew to wake up, so I could cook him some breakfast, even though I know he doesn't like breakfast. I'm stubborn. I pulled out all of the ingredients for a delicious scramble (the best egg invention since Easter eggs), including, shallots, spinach, pancetta, heavy cream (I ran out of milk and just happened to have heavy cream - - I love you, heavy cream) and Gruyere. Not only that, but we also had leftover potato fennel gratin from last night, so I planned to heat that up as well. I know, leftovers, well, what can I say? I guess I'm coming around. Then I waited. And waited. And waited, until finally I heard our bedroom door creek open and I ran as fast as I could to meet him at the door and say, "I'm making breakfast!" Well what do you think was his response? Yes, that's right, his response was, "oh, honey, you know I don't really like breakfast." I pouted like a five year old and watched him walk away and disappear into the bathroom for his morning shower. "Well,” I said to myself (out loud), "we'll just see about that." So he showered and I scrambled and toasted and sautéed, and poured all of the delicious breakfast goodness onto one plate, grabbed two forks and headed for the dining room. I waited there until he came out of the bathroom. "Mmmmmmm. Smells good." he said. And I knew I had him. Let's just say that Andrew had breakfast this morning, and he loved it.