First of all, there is no shame in bird watching. Early birds catch the worms. Over the course of the last few weeks, I’ve been canceling my evening plans to turn myself into a morning person. This is all based on a conversation I had with a married friend who said that if I’m on the market for quality men, it’s best to “catch them in the morning.” The idea is to rise with the early birds and catch them when they are fresh out of the shower and fully caffeinated. And not in the evenings when they are decompressing, drunken and/or sloppy. Blurry-eyed and probably wearing way too much makeup for this hour, I set out to Café Cousette at the Mandarin Oriental. So for the first time since public school force-feeds, I ate breakfast. Eating before noon simply disrupts the natural order of things for me as I’m usually still digesting my meal from the night before. My morning intake often consists of a mint at most. Breakfast, I'm told, is the one meal where people gladly eat exactly the same thing every day of their lives. Maybe that is why I don't care for the stuff. Breakfast is also stubbornly resistant to multiculturalism. And rightly so. The Chinese like their congee with pig’s blood, Indians like curried lentils, Scandinavians have their pickled herring on knacke brød, Germans feast on salami and cheese, Jews have smoked fish on boiled bread, Mexicans take their juevos rancheros (or is that just a Texan invention?), the English like their blood sausage fry-up, and Americans will eat anything batter-fried with chocolate sprinkles on it. Would you trade yours up for any of that? And every culture has some form of grain they like to turn into glop (porridge, oatmeal, congee, dhal). Why do people think it’s a good idea to eat soft foods in the morning? You have to load it up with cream, sugar, salt and butter for it to taste like anything. This can’t be healthy. I learned quickly after a week that the earlier you get to the Mandarin, the better the selection. Here’s the timetable for such events: By the time 9am rolls around, the freshly bathed hotties you’re looking for? They’ve left. Gone. You’re dining with wives and tennis partners. Around 8, you get a mix of tourists and tables filled with men wearing bow ties - this must be the power breakfast session (as breakfast is, of course, the new lunch). I found that a few strokes after seven is the sweet spot when the dining room begins filling with eye candy. Tables are littered with Blackberries, cufflinks are being played with, and newspapers are read folded in quarters. Yum. Except... What do you do? Get them to buy you juice? What kind of mating call do you send these guys? How do you give eye-sex if none are looking up from their papers? These boys all want to be left alone. My friend Joe laughed at me when I told him about this. He said the kind of men girls should want to meet are the ones bent over at their desks spooning mircowaved oatmeal into their mouths while waiting for the markets to open - not these posers.