A late lie-in, selection of papers, eggs Benedict & spoonfuls of fabulous marmalade.
To me all these things mean it’s Sunday. A day were running on time isn’t what’s important, but taking the time to languish over everything is.
And that’s what I’ve done this morning. I may have woken up early (what’s new) but I lay in bed, dozed, read my book and when I was ready for the world – rather than the other way around – I flopped out of bed. Without rushing or thinking too hard I rummaged around for an outfit, brushed my teeth and made myself presentable to the world. Letting my feet do the thinking I bumbled down the stairs and into the kitchen: time for feeding.
Having previously sneakily placed the remainder of the Hollandaise sauce in the back of the fridge, out of general sight, I had a plan for breakfast this morning. From Monday to Saturday I eat a healthy, regulated breakfast. But on Sundays I crack the egg, splash out on the buttered toast and have one too many cups of coffee.
With a large pot of coffee, the Sunday paper magazines and my perfectly poached egg luxuriating in the Hollandaise I settled in for what should probably be called brunch. One of the joys of a Sunday, for me, is almost aimlessly leafing through magazines and newspapers. So with my fork piled high, aimed in the direction of my keen mouth, I set about page turning.
It was in this manner that I worked away at the contents of my plate until, inevitably, I came to the last bite. For me this is always the best bite, and for it to be the best bite it needs to have a little bit of everything. A piece of the crunchy toast, a sliver of the smoky ham, a smattering of egg white & lashings of runny egg yolk, salt & pepper and of course enough creamy Hollandaise to coat everything sufficiently. And in a perfect world nothing more will touch my lips for the next 10 minutes while I lavish in the luxuriating flavours in my mouth, intriguingly contemplating the scrumptious joys I’m experiencing.
Half an hour later, when the first half of breakfast has started to digest, it’s time to start contemplating breakfast’s version of pudding: marmalade on toast. It may be a good idea to mention that if you don’t have an outstanding marmalade this course isn’t really worth getting too excited about and, of course, you can always substitute marmalade for your favourite preserve. For me a hot slice of toast needs to coats. The first, the primer, a layer of butter. The second, the top coat, generous spoonfuls of marmalade.
Crunching away on this citrus delight, contemplating my horoscope (quickly thrown away if it’s not to my liking, or read again if it looks promising) and sipping on the last of my coffee. The perfect way to start any Sunday.
Lucky
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