Cookies for Breakfast

An ode to small indulgences

Kerala Taylor


Photo by ildipapp/Canva

I hate January. Every year, it seems impossible that the first month of the year contains the same number of days as six other months of the year, including the one directly preceding it. January is interminable by comparison.

I know many people who opt for deprivation during January, challenging themselves to a month without sugar or alcohol. New year, new you, or something like that.

I tried this once when my boss inspired me to get on the Whole30 bandwagon back in January 2017. “Inspired’ is, perhaps, a misleading word. I knew I was going to be hearing about the Whole30 diet multiple times a day for the next 30 days, so I thought I might as well take it one step further and join in the utter lack of fun.

Whole30 was the first and last diet I ever attempted. Maybe I felt marginally better, but it was hard to tell because I mostly felt hungry. Apparently, I need carbs to properly fill me up. I was also consistently stressed out about all the time I needed, but didn’t have, to devote to food prep and eating.

Throughout endless weeks of pointless deprivation, I learned that I have no sensitivities to any foods whatsoever and that I really, really like gluten.

Now, I take the opposite approach to January. I let myself indulge. Not excessively — I try to find just a little something extra that will help carry me through these dark, damp days. And yes, usually the little something is food- or beverage-related.

This year, it’s cookies for breakfast. I didn’t intentionally decide to start eating cookies for breakfast. My daughter baked them last week, and no one else in the family was eating them.

Typically, when my daughter bakes things — which, by the way, is one of the few perks of sharing a house with an adolescent — entire batches of treats mysteriously disappear within 24 hours. Everyone in the household claims both innocence and indignation.

But this particular batch of cookies lingered, probably because they are slightly undercooked with just a hint of sweetness. I find them divine. Both crumbly and moist, each with a thumb-sized smear of homemade strawberry and rhubarb jam that a neighbor gave us for Christmas, because very…



Kerala Taylor

Award-winning writer. Interrupting notions of what it means to be a mother, woman, worker, and wife. Subscribe: