I want to keep up the blog, I do. But I feel like no one cares. I feel like people are too caught up in the election to care about eggs over medium. What a travesty. I will forge on, however. No Democratic primary can stymie my literary blogospherical dedication!
I am still cooking eggs, if that helps.
A lot of people know I’m an expert at cooking breakfasts. (For proof, see my eggs over easy post.) So it shouldn’t come as a surprise for anyone that one of my recent Google image searches was: beautiful toast.
I Googled it because I wanted to see some of the ways people had thought of to make crunchy, cooked bread an art. So when I performed the search and came up with this, I not only received a shock from the electric socket I was currently sticking a fork in (to see if it was done), I also got a psychological shock from my computer.
Apparently when people think about beautiful toasts, they think about the dumb speeches people make at weddings that are only really funny to the drunks an the person making them. Well, I guess that just proves that I think outside the box, just as Dewar’s told me to in the commercial spot I saw on TV yesterday. Well a toast to that, Dewar’s. Here’s to you.
The kitchen’s finally remodeled. Finally. I say “finally” which such finality because it’s been a work in progress for upwards of four weeks now, which means I haven’t been able to use as much as the faucet without worrying about altering the internal structure of the pipes. I don’t know if you’ve ever dealt with a remodel before, or a remodel to such grand proportions, but this one was incredible. Grace wanted all the faucets to be bronze, because, and I kid you not, she saw an art gallery exhibition about a dozen years ago and hasn’t got the idea of antique bronze out of her head. She must have been 9 years old when she saw it. Quite the impressionable youth, I’d say. I managed to dig up an article about the exhibition she saw in what’s now called the Merrin Gallery on 5th if I’m not mistaken. Guy who directs it is I guess the son of the original owner, Sam Merrin, his dad being the famous Edward H. But back then she says it had a different name. Frankly, I’m not all that convinced it’s the one she went to. In addition to being art “enthusiasts,” Grace’s mom and stepdad were heavily into a few of the top-end hallucinogens. I wouldn’t be surprised if a little of that rubbed off on to her morning eggs benedict.
Speaking of eggs, and the entire reason I created this blog, I made a brilliant meal of eggs over easy this morning in our newly bronzed kitchen. I think Grace expected the whole thing to be a bit more fantastical, her dream kitchen being one based on the heads and classically formed statues of ancient mythological beings, but eggs over easy it was. I always make eggs over easy for Grace because of a running joke she and I have about how she is easy. Sometimes she laughs so hard she cries…
I digress. The way I make eggs is a long process, beginning with the donning of a chef’s hat and ending with a ceremonial fork-in-mouth operation I call eating. I won’t go into the details, but let’s just say there’s a spatula, a selection of chicken’s eggs, and a complex culinary process involved.
This year in my bronzed kitchen I resolve to cook more eggs. We’ll see how that goes. Also, to try to keep up this blog, but frankly that seems like the more elaborate affair.
