OK, now I know there's something Proustian about this, but bear with me.
Most weeks, I eat a boring combination of cereal and fruit with a glass of juice. Sunday morning Big Breakfasts have a special place in my heart (right near my left ventricle, I'm sure).
That's the day my husband and I like to eat all manner of eggs, or waffles, or anything else that we consider a breakfast specialty — pretty much anything we never have during the rush-hour that is the weekday morning.
Today, as I woke up to the sound of birds singing and inhaled the glorious smell of bacon.
Better yet, I could tell that my husband had been making homemade home fries — diced yukon golds with carmelized onions, a little dried rosemary and plenty of salt. Yum.
Those home fries — in all their golden, crispy, oily crackliness — beckoned, in shades of brown and tan and amber... All colors that would make a great necklace. A necklace that conjures up thoughts of Sunday morning breakfast deliciousness.
Most weeks, I eat a boring combination of cereal and fruit with a glass of juice. Sunday morning Big Breakfasts have a special place in my heart (right near my left ventricle, I'm sure).
That's the day my husband and I like to eat all manner of eggs, or waffles, or anything else that we consider a breakfast specialty — pretty much anything we never have during the rush-hour that is the weekday morning.
Today, as I woke up to the sound of birds singing and inhaled the glorious smell of bacon.
Better yet, I could tell that my husband had been making homemade home fries — diced yukon golds with carmelized onions, a little dried rosemary and plenty of salt. Yum.
Those home fries — in all their golden, crispy, oily crackliness — beckoned, in shades of brown and tan and amber... All colors that would make a great necklace. A necklace that conjures up thoughts of Sunday morning breakfast deliciousness.
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