So… last night, I was a little bit depressed about fall. I know I posted all happy and excited about baklava, but the truth is, in comparison with last summer, this summer was pretty amazing (actually… three months in Europe and one basking in the sun is better than most summers…), and so I’m kind of sorry to see it go.
This morning, I woke up too late for breakfast, and instead had to vault out of bed and go directly to my cousin’s house, where I had stored my suitcase for the summer. By the time I got home, I was cold and hungry, so I decided to go for one of my favorites: scrambled eggs.
I’m usually a coffee and toast kind of person in the morning. Very low maintenance. Sometimes just the coffee. I’m high maintenance about coffee. But sometimes, when I don’t have time for a real breakfast, and I don’t notice until lunch is rolling around, I’ll make myself some peppers and fried eggs, or else scramble a few with lox, cream cheese, and shallots. This morning, however, all I had were the shallots. Grumbling about my empty fridge, I fried up the shallots in some olive oil, added salt, pepper, and cayenne pepper, and then reached for the eggs. I cracked one in the bowl and stopped short. This egg was bright, fluorescent orange. How curious. I cracked the second, and it was the same. As I beat them with the only dairy product I had, some 1% milk, I watched them turn from bright orange to a pale, agreeable orange-yellow. I added them to the pan and slow-cooked the whole thing together. I moved them to the plate and realized what I had made myself for breakfast.
A plateful of sunshine.