Yesterday morning I was awoken by the weight of Charlie's heavy head on my bedside and a snuffling in my armpit. Once he saw my eyes were open, he wagged furiously with his head still resting on the sheet beside me, wobbling the bed. He has somehow perfected the art of looking so stinking cute, I can't even be mad at him that it's ten to seven in the morning after a late night. To bribe myself to get up and walk him, I decided we should walk to the farmers' market and get a few things.
After a sweep of my regular stalls, I headed home with a backpack full of fresh eggs, seconds tomatoes, yellow squash, a red onion, the most beautiful long, skinny green beans, a loaf of seedy brown bread, and to top it off, a cup of homemade chai tea and a raisin scone. I know what you're thinking- "Ugh, a raisin scone? Couldn't they have put something better in a scone than raisins?" But these are not just any old raisins. These, my friend, are sherry-soaked raisins. Raisins that have bathed in sherry turn from drab, shriveled nubs that come cemented together in a mini cardboard box, into a fruity, complex goddess of a dried fruit. I munched and sipped all the way home as Charlie stared longingly at the scone ( I gave him the last bite with no raisins:)
When I made it home I unpacked all my goods and started on breakfast.
The Humble Breakfast of Champions:
A fried egg
Half of a tomato, wedged and salted, and
One slice of Prairie Brown Bread with butter and honey
The simplest and yet most satisfying breakfast that will ever stick with you. Add a hot cup of coffee and you're on cloud nine.
While rattling around the kitchen, I decided for convenience's sake, I would go ahead and slice up the rest of my loaf of bread. Running around before class and trying to slice bread for my packed lunch during the week usually doesn't go so well. I have two great knives in my block, but unfortunately, a bread knife is not one of them. So I went for the steak knife with the pointiest serrations and went to town. About two slices in, I started breaking a sweat. Halfway through the loaf my bicep started burning. At three quarters of the way, I wiped my dripping brow with a paper towel and debated surrendering to the tough knob of bread, sitting there so innocently. With a rush of fortitude, I grabbed the heel and finished sawing it into manageable slices. Ha ha! Take that, you stupid loaf! I sat back with exhaustion and pride as I looked at my pile of half-maimed slices and then gingerly put them back in the bread bag.
That morning, I finally got the saying.
No comments:
Post a Comment