Like a well-made bed, a properly laid breakfast table is a gesture toward a day auspiciously begun. At least that’s what I tell myself as I troll flea markets and thrift stores in search of breakfast-related objets, from bluebird-hued china egg cups and chartreuse-colored ceramic creamers designed by Russel Wright to Art Deco-style juicers and ’60s-era syrup pitchers. Frankly, though, I’m drawn to these implements not because they’re indispensable—you can pour cream straight from the carton, after all—but because they amuse me, and I believe that breakfast should, as often as possible, be fun. That is not to say that these items are lacking in utility; hardly a day goes by when I don’t grab my grapefruit knife, whose curved, serrated blade is perfectly suited to its appointed task. My toast rack also gets plenty of use; its amply spaced dividers allow steam to escape from the toast’s crannies, keeping it crisp. Let’s face it; in a civilized world, no one’s breakfast should fall ruin to soggy toast.