My ideal breakfast is baked eggs, a nice thick ham steak and wondrously high popovers, this is the food that makes Sunday mornings so special and different from the other 6 days. Sundays are the time to slowdown and reflect on your week and your loved ones in your non formal pajamas for hours. A nice and slow day...
When we were kids my Mother always made baked eggs, that is what she called them. The English like to call them shirred eggs, but the concept is exactly the same. Because it is a dish based in the 60’s we start with a Pyrex custard cup, you know the clear glass cups that hold 7 or 8 ounces, cups that were basic kitchen equipment before we all got so sophisticated.
The Waffle House is sort of the unofficial flower of the Southern
Interstate exit. Driving North from the Gulf Coast on I-65 for the past
two years, I have seen the yellow signs blossoming in hamlets from
Alabama to Kentucky, and been intrigued, imagining fluffy waffles with
real syrup, folksy waitresses with coffee pots, and an enlightening
cross section of humanity. My path to Waffle Nirvana was blocked only
by my mother, who has a phobia about unclean public bathrooms which I
believe is a gene-linked trait in Jewish women of her generation.
Having been a teacher, she is able to “hold it” like a camel retains
water in the desert, but during the long trip home from Florida she
insists, not unreasonably, that we choose lunch stops at restaurants
where she can use the restrooms without sedation.
Did you ever buy some ingredient that you thought was good for you? You know what I'm talking about. Oat bran, flax, amaranth, wheat germ, teff, spelt, millet. It sounded like a good idea when you purchased it. You might even have bought it for a specific recipe. But then the inevitable. It sits in your pantry or fridge or maybe even the freezer. Then one day you are cleaning out the shelves and you come upon it. If you're lucky, it still has the label on it. Otherwise out it goes!