I’m not sure when Seattle’s love affair for going out for breakfast started, but I was late to the party. I can’t think of a time we ever “went out” for breakfast when I was growing up. Back then, breakfast meant reading the back of a cereal box while the Captain Crunch loofahed the skin off the roof of your mouth. The most important meal of the day was often a race against time to spoon in the Cocoa Krispies before they turned to mush and then be rewarded with tipping up a bowl full of chocolate milk. Nothing quite like the pure joy of sugaring your own Rice Krispies to the point you were left with a sweet mud flat of sludge at the bottom of the bowl. If you didn’t have time for a soup tureen full of sugar, there was always Carnation Instant Breakfast in a smoky tall glass from the Shell station, or brown sugar cinnamon Pop Tarts cooked to perfection in the streamlined Sunbeam toaster with the sketchy cloth-covered electrical cord, then smothered in Western Family Margarine from the yellow tub in the fridge. I don’t think I actually went out for breakfast until I was in college, but ending up at Denny’s at 2:30 AM after your band gets off stage doesn’t really count. To this day, I am somewhat mystified by the allure of waiting in line for an hour to eat an omelet as big as your head. But then again, those folks in line probably can’t fathom how my generation lived to adulthood by starting our day with enough sugar to make our head spin like Linda Blair in the Exorcist.