“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day” my health teacher used to say: a large woman with a Geri curl-like haircut and a voice deeper than that of my father. She’d always say this line standing in front of a poster she kept taped beside the chalkboard showing what was considered to be a healthy breakfast. It showed fruit, cereal, toast, eggs, bacon, and various juices.

I didn’t even like most of the things on the poster, but remember confidently thinking that if I had a breakfast display like that set up for me, of course I’d eat it. It was a contrast to what I was offered each morning: a small box of Rice Chex or, if I was lucky, a freshly toasted Pop Tart.

“If we skip breakfast,” she said, “we are likely to become tired in the middle of the day because our bodies are running low on fuel. Let’s take a poll, shall we? Who of you all had a healthy breakfast this morning?” The only person who raised her hand was Courtney, the class kiss up. Of course she had a healthy breakfast. “Good, Courtney. Looks like you’re on the right track to becoming old and wise like me.”

Then, with the senseless power that the teacher wielded, she awarded Courtney an A for the morning: the rest of us got an incomplete. To this day, I can’t really justify the logic behind her lesson, but it had left an impact on me deeper than the hunger I’d feel around mid-day.

From that day on, I made an effort to consume something every morning before I went to school, if for no other reason than to receive a good grade in Health. Because I was allergic to most of the poster foods, I was inclined to eat more unconventional breakfast foods, such as leftover Lo Mein from the fridge or a bag of Jiffy Pop. Whether my breakfast was customarily accepted I wasn’t concerned: as long as it tasted good.

In Panama, only part of the lesson I learned in Health class holds true. Sure, breakfasts are consumed by nearly the entire population: this is a good thing and this is what gives Panamanians fuel throughout the day. But contrary to the book, breakfasts usually consist of fried hotdogs and fried dough balls: not exactly what I imagine showing up on a poster anytime soon.

It was a sunny Saturday morning in Casco Viejo, Panama that my friend Carlos and I walked into one of the lone restaurants open and proceeded to order breakfast. Carlos ordered a myriad of Panamanian breakfast specialties. One fried flab of dough called an hojaldras, cut up hotdogs in tomato sauce called salchichas, a fried pastry with meat inside, and a whole boiled egg. He topped off his order with the request of a bottle of hot sauce which he’d ensuingly douse his breakfast food in.

I asked if Carlos was done, then ordered myself a cup of pickled fish called ceviche and a bottle of Coke.

“What are you doing? Did you just order ceviche for breakfast? That’s disgusting! Why don’t you eat something…more traditional?”

That’s the problem with breakfast Panama food. When you hear the words “traditional” or “customary”, you tend to associate eating such foods with culturally-enlightening acts akin to scaling the Great Wall of China. Though in reality, consuming these foods is not unlike ingesting the remnants left behind in a McDonalds fryer. Beside most roads in Panama you can find fondas or cafes where this breakfast food group is displayed prominently in glass cases, lit deliciously by the sheen of an exposed 40-watt bulb. What’s missing from most of these displays is the amount of calories you’ll rack up over a meal: homemade pork rinds are one of the biggest attractions.

It was only after that breakfast with Carlos that I fully grasped the power of the Health class lesson. Breakfast is less about what you actually eat and more that you eat something period. Whether it’s ceviche or fried hotdog slices, Carlos and I took comfort in having a full tank of fuel for the day that lay ahead.

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Filed under: Food on June 24th, 2008