Growing up, Christmas breakfast at my nana and papa’s house was an elaborate Southern affair. The special Franciscan Ivy china and coordinating green glassware was pulled from the cabinet a week before, cleaned, and set on dining tables draped with Christmas tablecloths. Christmas morning, while the grandchildren were up early opening presents at our own houses, Nana was already busy at the stove. The menu was extensive: biscuits, yeast rolls, link and patty sausages, bacon