Sunday Morning

On most mornings I wake up a little groggy. No matter how much or how little sleep I get in an evening it seems as if my eyes want nothing more than to open as soon as the day hits 7am. Most of the time I wake up and hardly think about what to do for breakfast. A sad reality to face since breakfast is my favorite meal of the day. When I lived with my parents I would wake up early on weekends and prepare a feast for them. And some days I would extend that invitation to my uncle and his family across the street or to my brother and his family a few blocks away. Breakfast was, and is, and always will be my favorite meal to prepare and to eat. Which is why I usually find myself saddened on those days when I wake, wipe the sleep from my eyes, and exert no more effort than what is involved in finding a bowl, a small spoon, the cereal, and milk. As much as I might like the idea of indulging in experimenting with something more than a bowl of Pumpkin Flaxseed Cinammon Clusters, I make the mistake of packing too much into the mornings I have before work. There is the gym to go to. A blog to try to keep up with. Friends to email. Articles to read. Laundry to do. Etc. etc. etc. etc.

But. On some mornings. Be it Sunday or Wednesday or Friday or whatever, I am blessed to wake up with someone to cook for. The sun starts to peep through my bedroom curtain, my eyes open, I stretch and yawn a little tune, and my mind turns. The first obvious question. Sweet or savory? Once that is answered I can really let my mind free and allow it to go where it pleases--through the articles of my pantry, fridge, and counter space. Nothing stays simple in my mind since I always aim to challenge myself in some ways. Will I go the sweet route? Okay. Let's try waffles. Do I want whole grain? Some flax seed? Perhaps some toasted and chopped walnuts or pecans. Yum. And, if I do that, do I want to saute some apples? Or maybe carmelize some bananas. Or maybe simple maple syrup is the way to go.

This morning I woke and my taste buds screamed SAUSAGE! Yes, I admit. I am a card-carrying, proud member of the Breakfast Sausage Adoration Society. What to go with them? Perhaps some slices of that loaf of Black Olive bread I procured from the bakery. What else. Well, obviously, sausage and bread calls for eggs. Scrambled I was tired of. Enough of it already. I didn't have enough to do an omelette I could be proud to serve (no more cheese in in the fridge, the swiss chard? Been there, done that. And, wouldn't you know, fresh out of garlic! How could I allow that!?!?!). A simple solution--poach. I will waive my right to plead the fifth and will admit wholeheartedly that I have yet to poach the perfect egg. In fear of gifting salmonella with a tasty loaf I tend to overcook the egg. I have never achieved that most beautiful state of breaking into the yolk and having it ooze and soak into the toasted bread beneath. (Perhaps a subconscious doing since I am actually not a fan of a runny yolk?) This morning no different. How could I continue to wow in the face of that hardened yolk? And then the final touch hit me in those moments before he could even lean and further take over my side of the bed--asparagus. The first bunch purchased this season. A little pricey but a beautiful addition to my plate. Judge for yourself.