From the menu of a Park Slope restaurant whose name I didn't write down. I think it's across the street from Mura, on 5th Avenue.
Possibly I didn't write it down because the wholesome goodness of it was so uninspiring. I can't recall if the heading was Breakfasty Items or what, but it was too cutesy, too stereotypically gingham and baskets with bows.
I stood there for a moment, editorially, thinking, Why not just breakfast? Breakfast is good. Breakfast is already two words (or three, depending on how you view it)--why add on this curlicue?
Breakfasty. The image was a piece of cotton cloth twisted to the choking point. Unappetizing! The opposite of Gino's menu charms (written about, if I remember correctly, in these posts).
I wonder how a translator would render breakfasty in French or Italian.