Let me start by saying that, like most people now-a-days, I am always on the go. Between working, writing, school, spending time with my boyfriend Ryan, and best friend Randa, I am rarely at home, which means I hardly ever get to eat a good meal. This is so incredibly tragic. I love to eat.

So the following places are frequently graced with my presence:

I eat pizza, a lot. I work at East of Chicago and for the past year, I’ve had the luxury of eating pizza nearly four times a week. My father would be in heaven, but I’ve succumbed to a pizza coma. Pizza and I are no longer friends.

The people at subway, well, they already know what I want when I walk in the door. But let me tell you about my absolute favorite meal, other than ones my mom cooks - Rodhe’s breakfast. Now this isn’t a once-a-week type deal, this is almost five days a week, with my sister… every morning.

Two dippy eggs, wheat toast, homefries, and of course, a diet Pepsi make up my breakfast. Not Coke, Pepsi. Big difference that most people don’t understand… I’m addicted. But back to my breakfast... I know the breakfast ladies by name, and I frequently talk to them about anything, mostly about the dreaded classes I have at 7:45 in the morning. So when classes are over, or when I finally drag my sorry butt out of bed, I head to Rodhe’s for my morning routine.

Simply put, Rodhe’s breakfast is a religious experience that everyone must try at least once.

So tasty, and it never fails. EVER. I can honestly say that every time I’ve been to breakfast, it is always the same yummy flavors that power me through my day. This, my fellow readers, is magic.

This breakfast tradition is long standing in my family. When I was younger and on summer break, I would go to breakfast every Wednesday morning with my Grandpa Ken, Grandma Janet, my dad Doug, Brittany and my brother Kyle. We would sit around a big table and the deli ladies always knew what we wanted. I thought this was so cool when I was 5, but honestly, everything is cool when you’re 5.

My grandma would always order two eggs with wheat toast, and then never eat her toast, I never quite understood why she just didn’t order the toast, but let it be, right? My dad would have me search for the grape jelly packets, and my grandpa would be shouting because he could never hear; he was a hoot. He was usually quiet, but when he wanted to be ornery, he was very sly about it. I think that’s why it was so funny; you just never quite knew how he was going to act… I see where I get it now.

But once my grandpa passed, the tradition continued, just minus one. And then my grandma started having health problems, so the tradition of Wednesday morning breakfast ended. It was kind of sad. I always looked forward to spending time with them every Wednesday morning. I knew I would get to see them, and now, well, I barely have time to see my own parents… I really need to work on that.

But my tradition has started back up. Right now, I’m sitting here at the Lovin’ Oven (yes, that is really the name of the Rodhe’s deli), eating my eggs and talking to Tina – one of the breakfast ladies- about the trash can fiasco (they got rid of the old display that held all the napkins, ketchup packets, etc. that has been there since as long as I can remember) and changed it with something new... I hate change, but my breakfast is still just as good. That’s all for now. Teenager out.