When we stayed with Syd, the most important meal of the day was breakfast. There was always a choice of breads and meats and eggs and jams and lox and bagels and cereal... whatever you wanted always seemed to be in her fridge. But the great thing was that you would start talking at breakfast and you'd still be there at almost lunchtime, discussing everything under the sun. I remember vividly first hearing the name Barack Obama (after he gave his speech at the Democratic Convention) in my grandmother's kitchen. It seemed so unlikely that the black man from Chicago she described could one day be president: but she saw it even then.