Most Sundays, I walk the few blocks up to the farmer's market in my neighborhood. As someone who eats primarily vegetarian (please ignore the delicious Cuban sandwich I had for lunch yesterday), I can buy a week's worth of delicious things for not as much money as I would at our shiny new QFC and I can also ogle cute babies and dogs and smell pretty flowers and maybe talk to some people I don't know.
I'm feeling exceptionally run-down and exhausted lately due to me losing at the game of health roulette, so walking up there and wandering around was not sounding incredibly exciting. To be honest, I spent Friday night and most of Saturday in bed and I am *still* exhausted. This is where Face comes in. Face is short for Adamface, who is a rather handsome (if tragically hip) fellow that accosted me at a sushi restaurant one night a couple of months back. We became fast friends and we have a deal that says that he can come over any time he wants and hang out for as long as he wants, so long as he doesn't remove any clothing or try to stick his tongue in my mouth. In exchange, I will make him delicious dinner and breakfast and cookies and all manner of snacky things and we will watch movies and go swimming and be platonic boyfriend-girlfriend. It's silly and lovely and sort of droll at times and I am glad to have Face around. We tease each other an awful lot, but it's out of a sort of love that is like "Well, you're very pretty and funny and smart and maybe in another life I would let you put your mouth on mine, but if you try that in this one, I will hit you with a stick, so stop joking about that because NO."
SO, Face wanted to do brunch today and I wanted to stay in bed alllllllll day long, but I relented and told him to bring champagne and he had a deal. We'd planned on noonish, but that changed when this sunshine we're being subjected to woke me up at 7:45am. I texted Face and told him to get his hipster tail over here because we were having breakfast instead.
Like a true gentleman, he was here in 20 minutes in his automobile and informed me that since it was so early and the farmer's market was not open for another two hours, we were going elsewhere to procure eggs. I was thinking we'd be stopping at the grocery, but no. Face's friend from work has chickens. Chickens lay eggs. Face has an open invitation to come and get eggs any time. Given that chickens don't sleep in, Face's friend was awake, cheerful and already expecting us. He fed us coffee and sent us home with six perfectly lovely eggs from his very friendly chickens and said that I should come back with Face some time and play with those birds. Do chickens actually play? I hope so. I am envisioning teaching them to fetch and rewarding them with little bits of grain and making them my feathery minions.
Anyway, after such a lovely start to the morning, we vetoed mimosas and made deliciously strong coffee (I am told this is my specialty) to go with breakfast. After a friend left last night, I sliced some of the Italian round leftover from Friday night's dinner (gnocchi! DELICIOUS GNOCCHI!) and set the bread to soak in the fridge overnight with a few eggs and some heavy cream and vanilla and cinnamon. French toast was necessary. While we drank coffee and read the news from the Sunday paper, I made the french toast and chopped onions for scrambled eggs. Face sliced an apple and attempted to make whipped cream, which was partially successful, but mostly a delicious half-whipped failure. Queue more coffee and a bit of hand-wringing on his part.
"Birdie, you really need to get a mixer."
"Why? I have that sort-of-mixer thing you're using now."
"This is a glorified Snoopy sno-cone maker that happens to have an inadequate whipping paddle."
"And you arm is tired?"
"And my arm is tired. And this is gloopy. "
"It's heavy cream. It doesn't matter what the consistency is because it is a cardinal diet sin, thus making it delicious in all incarnations."
"Good point. Let's eat."
During The Eating Time, I was mercilessly judged for not having syrup in the house. Despite the fact that I never really use syrup (and that it is one more thing for me to clumsily somehow spill all over my cabinets), apparently this is also a food sin. Are people really so passionate about that stuff? It's so odd to me. I am not particularly fond of maple-y things, so it never occurred to me to purchase some. Instead, I use honey. I can get behind some honey, friends. So much more delicious than syrup (TRUTH) and it gives little tiny bees a purpose in life and it tastes like Heaven without being too much and it is far prettier than any of that syrup business could ever hope to be. Face wasn't terribly enthused until he tasted it on the french toast with some of his half-whipped cream. He was almost convinced. Then he accidentally dragged his eggs through a drizzle of it and proclaimed that extra sharp white cheddar and honey were meant to live together for all of eternity in delicious harmony. I have made him a believer. SCORE!
Face is now at home in a food coma, which he thanked me effusively for and I am contemplating laying out in this sunshine for a little bit with a book in order to cast out this paleness that is enveloping me. After that, I am going to call my sister Kristine, who gave birth to the most lovely little niece anyone could ever, EVER wish for.
Reese Ann Elliott was born on Thursday, weighing in at 10lbs 6.8oz. Clearly, big brother Luke is a-okay with her. Me? I can't wait to snuggle that little darling. So precious!
No comments:
Post a Comment