Breakfast on the American Interstate, in the motel chains that welcome dogs as well as people, is a desultory, joyless affair, with fake butter, chemicalized waffles, white bread, thin coffee, petroleum plates,and sugared-up dry cereals. Oh--and maybe a sickly sweet perfect apple, its skin tough as nails.
Breakfast on a young man's visit to Marrakesh, Morocco, on the other hand, starts out looking like this:
Blue and white, my personal favorite, real breads, fresh juice, and tea or coffee brewed for each diner.