When I was in Belgium in December 2023, I accidentally stumbled into the best breakfast of my life. It wasn’t planned, but somehow, it became a daily ritual—one I could never get tired of. One I tried replicating back home and failed miserably. It all started on a chilly morning in my host’s garden. It was the end of heirloom tomato season, and while prepping the ground for the next planting, I found a few ripe ones still clinging to the vines. I decided to save them for later. After finishing my work, I was ravenous. Those plump, vibrant tomatoes caught my eye. I had never seen heirloom tomatoes in real life before. On a whim, I popped one into my mouth, and it was a revelation. Earthy, tangy, and sweet—it was as if all the flavors of the garden had condensed into this one bite. I needed to savor that taste as much as possible.

By then, I was familiar with the town, so I headed straight to the local bakery for a fresh sourdough loaf. The bakery wasn’t fancy, but the bread? Warm, crusty, and perfectly tangy—it was the kind of bread you dream about. I knew it would pair beautifully with my tomatoes. Back in the kitchen, I sliced up the sourdough and slathered it with homemade butter. The smell alone was heavenly. But something felt missing. I needed something more to round out the meal.

My hosts, who were big into DIY projects, had a fridge full of homemade goodies, from kefir to maple syrup. One jar, in particular, caught my attention—a mustard with a grainy texture and yellow hue. When I opened the lid, the sharp, sweet aroma hit me. This wasn’t your average supermarket mustard; it had a bold kick that instantly woke up my senses. I knew it had to go on my toast.

As I was licking the mustard off the spoon, my host walked in with groceries. Among their haul was something I’d never seen before: Gouda nettle cheese. Thick slices of creamy, slightly herbal cheese with specks of nettle running through it. Forget what you think you know about cheese—this was earthy, slightly spicy, and irresistibly smooth. With all my ingredients ready, I got to work.

First, I buttered a slice of sourdough, topped it with freshly sliced heirloom tomatoes ranging from cherry-red to golden yellow. Then came two slices of Gouda nettle cheese. I crowned it with another piece of buttered toast, slathered generously with that Dijon mustard. Into the pan it went, sizzling to golden perfection.

What surprised me was how quickly this became a tradition. I’ve never been a fan of breakfast, but I found myself looking forward to this meal every single morning. It wasn’t just about the food—it was the quiet of the mornings, the ritual of preparing it, and the joy of indulging in something so simple yet so perfect.

Now that I’m back home, I’ve tried to recreate it, but it’s not the same. The tomatoes lack that fresh sweetness, and the bread just doesn’t compare. Maybe it’s the ingredients, or maybe it’s the magic of that place. It’s funny how a breakfast can turn into a memory that stays with you. This one will always remind me of Belgium—and how the best meals are often the ones you never overthink.