Early this morning, I toasted two slices of multigrain bread, buttered them right to the edges, and covered them in thick juicy slices of tomato. Then slowly, almost reverently, I salted and peppered the entire thing, before tucking in with relish.

It was delicious. It was almost sinfully wholesome. It was a good way to use up the seemingly never-ending supply of tomatoes in my fridge (my partner’s a gardener and brings home bags of the things on a near-daily basis, despite his hatred of them). And it was pleasing to look at, too: indeed, I even idly toyed with the idea of snapping it for Instagram, before deciding I didn’t want to be that person.

Essentially, I enjoyed my breakfast. A lot. So it may come as a surprise to some foodies to learn that I’ve served myself that exact same meal every morning for the past two weeks. That I intend to do the same tomorrow, the next day, and the next.

And I very highly doubt I will be getting bored of it anytime soon.

Food psychology: Why some people will eat the same meal over and over again