GOOD MORNING AMERICA

America’s breakfast dishes represent every part of the country’s psyche: inventiveness, immigration, slavery, puritanism, capitalism.

t’s 9am on a Tuesday morning in the coastal Southern town of Biloxi, Mississippi, and I’m sitting in a red vinyl booth in a down-home diner called Fill-up with Billups, scanning a menu that looks like it’s doing its best to shorten my life expectancy by several years. Every entry reads like it’s competing with every other to pile up more elements than the one before. One example: “Tender smoked brisket sandwiched between a double order of crispy hash, topped with cheddar-fried jalapeño rings, pico, sour cream, two eggs your way, finished with house BBQ sauce and green onion.” I could add sides if I chose: smoked bacon, grits, breakfast sausage, American cheese. I’d come across a lot of exuberant menus in my quest to eat the ultimate American breakfast over this 12-day trip across Los Angeles, New Orleans