"If the meal was too slim,
Papa went out in the kitchen
and fried a big panful of potatoes
to supplement it."
Gladys Taber
The Book of Stillmeadow
After 50-something years of cooking breakfasts I've become a little uninspired by the whole business.
Especially when taking dairy out of the equation the last few years, or have RH suffer the consequences, I've about run out of ideas.
I wish I were a cereal eater. RH is perfectly happy with that and some fruit. Most mornings lately I just eat an egg open-face sandwich, on one piece of Great Harvest 100% whole wheat and it lasts me until a late lunch.
But Sunday breakfast should be special, even if it's only the two of us here to eat it. Otis and Milo used to get an egg every Sunday morning but the people we adopted BreeBree and James Mason from advised against it.
So this morning I just started slicing two big new potatoes while still in morning brain fog, plopped them in the pan and got out a bag of scallions, cleaned and sliced them and then went out on the kitchen porch to clip two jalapeños and sliced them.
By the time when RH got up from his rare morning of sleeping in, I had the eggs stirred into the potatoes and told him breakfast was ready.
Yes, no toast, no meat, no fruit. Salsa was optional.
Probably sensing that I was not in a mood for any comments, he sat down and ate it.
And it was good. Uninspired but good.
