Sunrise biscuits. So called because I fell asleep at 8:30 last night after a long day, and woke at 4:30 this morning. And like mindfulness experts and meditation masters everywhere advise against, I picked up my phone and started scrolling. I saw an article about baking, and I remembered a photo from earlier this week, Martha Stewart sporting a sweatshirt that read “Bakers Gonna Bake.” I got the itch. 

A batch of biscuits from a few days ago came out better than expected, so I thought I’d give it another go. In my latest return to vegetarianism, I’m focused on protein, so biscuits alone wouldn’t suffice for breakfast. Around 5:30 a.m. after Cup of Tea No. 2, I slipped out of the house and over to the corner store across from the secondary school, a few blocks away.

I think I’ve finally won over the store proprietor and matriarch of five beautiful children. Ten eggs, as usual, counted out by her son in his yellow school uniform, paid via mobile money transfer from phone to phone: $2 and some shillings. 

Back home, I used this method instead of a recipe for biscuits, which is beginning to feel strikingly apt as a metaphor for life right now. No recipe. Barely following the rules. Outcome unknown. Fingers crossed for something edible.

I threw in some crushed fennel seeds, lots of black pepper, and shredded cheddar and chopped chives from Nairobi.

Here’s hoping a decent breakfast portends something equally satisfying in the weeks to come.