My sausage, my bread, and I laid those eggs. Okay, that last one is a lie, but how hard could it be? You poop out an egg through your multitasking cochleae, and go, "Hey! What happened to the egg I just laid?" Then the next day lay another egg and go, "Hey! What happened to the egg I just laid?" Then the next day lay another egg and go, "Hey! What happened to the egg I just laid?" And so on, until finally you stop laying eggs every day and then comes *whispers* your unhappy day.
This sausage is so good I can not stand it. I hereby resolve to never buy sausage again for as long as I shall live. Maybe.
The spinach is wilted in the same little pan the bread was toasted and the sausage was browned and in which the eggs would cook. One after the other, all within minutes. No need even to rinse the pan. A true bachelor's tool there, one that a Tibetan monk could admire if they were given to cook sausage and eggs.
A drizzle of rice vinegar over the spinach. That, plus surplus butter dripping from the eggs constitutes a simple fat/vinegar dressing. Do this some time for your husband or for your wife if you have one of those, and they will know again with a profound certainty that you do truly love them.
No comments:
Post a Comment