Sunday, August 25, 2013


When I said I would make breakfast this morning; Michael offered to do the dishes.  Yesterday he prepared eggs over easy, corned beef hash and toast and I cleaned up all that mess, so this seemed like a fair deal. 

Partly because this morning is gorgeous and sunny, with a hint of that early-autumn crispness that just makes me want to do something functional before the crack of noon, partly because I wanted to redeem myself from last night's martini/Kraft Mac & Cheese epicurean adventure, and mostly because I had all the stuff to make it with (thanks in a large part to my friend Missey, her recreational lobster license and a mother who taught her to share) I decided to make eggs benedict with lobster. 

The coffee was brewing -- fresh ground Dancing Goat from Milagro--and while Michael assessed the new shelf situation in my 'office', I set to work in the kitchen.  First thing was to boil up the lobsters.  While they cooked I made some delightfully flaky biscuits from a recipe I found on Facebook ; I know  - I am hardly ever on Facebook, what luck finding a good...oh, hell.  Nobody's buying that. While the biscuits baked I picked out the lobsters and whipped up hollandaise - not the complicated one that breaks down if you're holding your mimosa in the wrong hand when you stir it, but a very forgiving and tasty blender version, even better with a couple snips of tarragon from my own little garden .  Hell, it's almost good enough to mix with vodka,but then, what isn't?  

OK, the biscuits are baked to golden goodness, the hollandaise is maintaining a happy warmth over a simmering water bath, the lobster is ready for a quick buttery dip in the sauté pan and I am almost mentally ready to poach the eggs.  You should know I can prepare a lovely feast for 50 people with a minimum of tears and throwing stuff, but I cannot poach an egg that doesn't end up looking like a background character from a 50's Sci-fi movie.  Luckily, when Michael moved in, he brought with him this wicked nifty pan with little inserts that you put some butter in, drop the eggs in and have perfectly shaped, runny-yolked cloud of cholesterol sunshine in a few minutes.  I just needed a minute to get comfy with this contraption.  The baby spinach sitting forlornly beside the eggs was looking pretty close to retirement, so I figured it should go out in a blaze of glory and for no apparent reason there was one lone tomato hiding with my lemons and limes that might as well join the party.  Several deep breaths, pots, pans, knives, bowls, spoons, cups, plates and a griddle later, I was ready to assemble breakfast. 

Dang!  Looks like I'll have to clean the coffee pot.  He is such a slacker.
Michael was mighty impressed when I urged him to make himself comfy on the couch and watch his favorite fancy race cars in Belgium while I presented him with a plate of flaky biscuits topped with grilled slabs of vine-ripened tomato, sautéed baby spinach, gently warmed lobster, the afore-mentioned perfectly shaped, runny-yolked clouds of cholesterol sunshine all enveloped in a
delightfully savory tarragon hollandaise sauce.  He was not so impressed when he saw the kitchen counters and stove.   Hey-- he offered.

Sure, there was quite a mound of dishes to be done, but in my defense I did save him some time - I used the same sauté pan for the spinach and lobster AND I cleaned the blender.  OK, not so much to be helpful, but because I might have needed to whip up a tarragon hollandaise vodka smoothie to help me through the poached egg crisis.  Or to help drown out the grumbling that seemed to be coming from the kitchen area.

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