Foggy as egg? A recipe with scattered measurements and blurry directions.
A nice cool morning came to be, and a white blanket covered the streets, the orange groves, and the building tops. In a way of sorts, at least here, the streets were still sleeping.
Last Thursday I woke up to a not so shiny Florida sun, but to a fog that didn't let me see five cars away. I came up with a breakfast without propper planning; a piece of loaf, fried eggs, and beacon filled me in. Followed by a not so fuggy mug of coffee.
However, somehow, some way, I felt unfulfilled. Dissatisfied. As if the food I ate did not fed my morning hunger... And I left the house feeling foggy.
Driving my way through the mist my mind came to wonder about how, or what my breakfast should've been. "Why the heck didn't I made me some swirl eggs and caramelized onions in bacon fat? Why didn't I added some sauteed brussels sprouts? Why?", my mind tried to fathom. And although some colors were visible, my eyes saw black and white... A spooky landscape that reminded me more of the Texas Chainsaw Massacre movie, than a beautiful foggy Florida morning.
The rest of my morning, and part of the afternoon were just that. A day that has passed without purpose. Without feeling. Without soul. And as soon as I got back home, my mind was cleard of foggy thoughts. I knew what to do. Breakfast.
A pot of swirling water with a little vinegar started to simmer and in went the beaten eggs. Such motion reminded me of the morning, confusing, but when ready, not so much.
Olive oil dressed the ingredients, and two blankets of cured meat gave it a beautiful balance. And crumbles of cheese rocked it up.
#itsfoodoclock