Autumn’s been asserting itself in San Francisco. After a few weeks of Indian summer, full of sun and occasionally blazing heat, the mornings now break cool and grey, swathed under a scarf of silvery fog.
On these chilly mornings, I find a strange comfort in the blandness of oatmeal and plain black tea, but I also see no harm in punctuating such monasticism with a little punch of flavor. I favor a dollop or two of pear butter plus a scattering of pepitas for crunch.
Once I’ve filled my belly with warming oatmeal, cradling my tea in my hands, the morning’s veil is lifted, and I’m ready to embrace the day.