Hullo there.
I try not to get FN icky and personal here, because...well, there are enough people feeling loudly on blogs. Blech. Suffice it to say, large momentous life changes have made sitting down and feeding the interwebs a little more challenging.
But rest assured, gentle and hungry readers, I still think too much about eating, and have lately been fixating mostly on eggs. And more eggs.
Pour Some Sugar On Me kidnapped me to her family's lakeside cabin in PA, where drunken bees were gorging themselves on flowering chives. I perry and dodged for my breakfast share; chive blossoms make scrambled eggs taste like they were kissed by garlic-y magic angel babies.
Clip and wash the poofy bloom clusters, pluck to separate the lil blossoms, and sprinkle at will for purple bursts of allium spunk. (Rosemary flowers are great with eggs, too!)
Elsewhere in eggland: For Effing BroBro's birthday, our family was lucky enough to sojourn to Blue Hill at Stone Barns, where I had my very first encounter with unlaid eggs.
Being Blue Hill, these embryonic eggs came from prideful hens raised on the estate, and were cured in salt until they took on the consistency of hard cheese.
For double-your-unlaid-pleasure, said salty cured yolks were shaved atop pasta made from fresh unlaid yolks. Sunny and reeking of procreative richness, 'twas lucky indeed that Blue Hill provided me this particular first.
And in my much-less-fancy-farmless kitchen, I revisited recession recipes:
Kale, Sausage and Cheddar Strata: Super-handy for feeding a mess of brunchers.
And the far classier Spam Sliders with over-easy eggs on King's Hawaiian Sweet Bread rolls:
Homesick Hawaiians, rejoice! I found said King's Sweet Bread at the Lime Tree Market in the East Village, of all places.
I ~may have~ screamed, danced and cried when I spotted them.
Go forth and purchase said far-flung manna, so that they continue stocking it!
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