The most important meal of the day.

Or so they say.

Most often, when I eat breakfast at home, in particular on workdays, the meal is anything but remarkable. Actually, it is rarely even interesting. What can be said for cereal or frozen waffles other than that they are fuel?

Granted, on occasion, there are leftovers from the dinner the night before. My morning is made whenever there is leftover green chile (it goes great as a component in a quick huevos ranchero, or as a zippy pool in which a couple eggs cooked over easy are floated, there to release their golden goo).

But, more often than not, when I struggle from the bed and manage to put all my parts in place, I am confronted by cereal (with fruit, if I am lucky) or those ridiculous little flax-seed laden frozen waffles that Kathy swears are a healthy wonderful addition to the morning regimen.

One’s life story is less than tantalizing when an episode begins with flax seed.

But, there is an option.

Sandwiches. Or, as they are known here in Siberia With a View, “Sangwitches.”

I love ‘em. And, perhaps, I love a good sangwitch more at breakfast than at any other meal.

Great bread is critical. Or, considering I live in Siberia With a View … good bread. Something crusty, with substance; but, under no circumstances is it to be a tree-hugger‘s whole grain abomination that makes a mockery of an ancient art. Crusty, hefty, sliced fairly thin.

I slather the pieces of bread with a serious amount of mayo and stone ground mustard.

Can’t have a sangwitch without cheese, now can we?

Of late, I am a big fan of asadero. Lacking that, I tie into one of those minibricks of Tillamook medium or sharp cheddar. I do not tread lightly with the dairy.

On to the goodie-slicked bread go the slices of cheese.

A slice of tomato?

Why not, with a sprinkle of kosher salt and some pepper.

Then, it’s on to the flesh.

If there’s a leftover hunk o’flesh in the fridge, I consider slicing it and using it in the breakfast sangwitch. If not, I opt for processed products. And some of them ain’t that bad, pardner. I bypass the cheaper items in the deli case — too much sodium, too many additives — and, of course, with my tendency to gout, I steer clear of most red meats. What I do like is the sliced, roasted chicken breast. A big wad of this on top of the cheese and the day-starter can be closed and devoured as I sit in the big chair in front of the windows and gaze at the birdies.

Every once in a while, I switch on the radio to hear the latest stock market report.

But, only every once in a while.

After all, why ruin a good sangwitch?