A True Haitian Breakfast: Ze' ak Bannann's
Growing up in a West Indian household specifically a Haitian home meant, a super early breakfast and an even earlier dinner; 5:00 pm if it’s the weekend. It didn’t make much sense but this was life; Thanksgiving? Forget about it, by 6:00 pm you’re having your third plate. Breakfast, however, was special.
My sister and I were drinking coffee at a very young age, eight or so. My mother purchased her coffee on the streets of Flatbush, Brooklyn from a purveyor that sold many “imported” goods from Haiti. We enjoyed our coffee black with a towering amount of sugar and toasted Haitian bread from the local bakery smeared with Country Crock butter. The empty tub of butter would later become a storage container for leftovers and marinades. We then submerged the warm thick buttery bread into the steamy dark obnoxiously sweet coffee. Power Rangers blared from the screen of our 30in Zenith as me and my sister recreated each action move charged up from the caffeine.
On the other hand, my father made the best breakfast. The classic omelet made with three or four ingredients that smelled like a chef’s tasting menu. Three eggs scrambled, sautéed yellow onions, sweet peppers, and fresh crushed garlic bubbled in canola oil and butter. My father then would split the skin of one green plantain and in a pot of boiling salty water cook until soft. Unlike my mother, my father wasn’t a coffee drinker but loved his Lipton tea. Once his star-studded breakfast was complete, my father with his knife, fork, and plate in one hand and his cup of tea with lemon in the other made his way to the dining room table. The table, set with lace appliqué tablecloth, a clear plastic covering, and plastic placemats decorated with apples and grapes, purchased from our local Target, well Bobby's Store. It was truly the best breakfast I had as a child that I can’t seem to recreate today.
This was a typical Saturday morning breakfast. Even though I've never been a fan of green plantains, my father made them the star of the dish. As I take small bites from his plate, I always declined to have my own. By 11:00 am, I was ready for my first nap of the day. Because I knew at 5:00 pm dinner would be ready.