Fine Dining with the Bordens (decline at your peril)
For breakfast that fatal August morning , the family had the remains of their last night's dinner mutton, hot mutton broth, bananas, johnnycake, bread, coffee, and cookies. The temperature outside was already 80 degrees by 7:30. All the windows were (as usual) tightly shut and locked. An incipient taint of corruption (both metaphorical and literal) seems to hangs heavy in the humid air . At the turn of the century such a meal was considered perhaps "ample" but not particularly unusual. To our sensibilities (and stomachs) it seems remarkable enough in itself but has been made immortal by the events of The Day - a kind of "gastronomical catalyst for whatever strange passionate killings were soon to take place."