Well, I am little confused this morning, tucked into the corner of the sofa with a down quilt and flannel pajamas. The last leisure time I had I was wearing flip flops and a shift and I was sipping coffee, nibbling ice cold pineapple and staring out over the mesmerizing Pacific Ocean, counting the shades of blue and watching the waves go out and come back in. Or maybe that was something I was reading. OR maybe I just dreamed all that?
But I'm awake now. Eating breakfast. Today's luxurious repast is one of my wintertime favorites: hot cocoa, wheatberry toast no butter and thick slabs of Tillamook medium cheddar cheese. This food is so primal, no satisfying, so ancient, I am positive my people were eating it ten thousand years ago. Bread and cheese and chocolate. Just doesn't get any better than that.
EXCEPT. Except for scrambled eggs. Scrambled eggs were the very first thing I learned to cook. My mother taught me when I was in the first grade. They are my favorite still, any time of day, and in any country. With toast, they are the perfect protein/carb combo breakfast. With bacon or sausage, and an iced tea with double lemon, they make a tasty lunch. With a salad, a nice hard roll with cold butter and some really crispy Chardonnay, they are dinner for royalty. Or your very best friend. But they are guaranted to please, impress and sate the ravished soul.
Julia Child has no less than 13 pages of instruction on how to make a perfect omelette, the kissing cousin of scrambled eggs. Enjoy.
Happy Valentine's Day.
The 'Kan EWA