Getting home on Friday night to find this:
Beast: Oh hey there. Guess what I’m doing.
Foodie: I knew what you were doing as soon as I walked in the front door. You know that shoe polish stinks, right? I’m opening up some windows.
Beast: I’ve been meaning to polish my shoe collection for so long now. This feels great.
Foodie: Wait a second; what are you wearing? Did you just take a t-shirt, make it into a tank top and use the scrap bits for shoe-shining?
Beast: That’s exactly what I did.
Foodie: Look how muscular your arms look!
Beast (flexing): I just worked out. And please don’t go upstairs. You will flip out if you see the bedroom.
Foodie: Fine. Are you going to start concentrating now on your skinny little legs in your workouts?
Beast: Listen, I’m not going to fatten up my legs just so you can feel better about your legs and your body image.
Foodie: My legs are NOT FAT!
Beast: I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have had three gin and tonics after my work-out.
Beast: Why didn’t you tell me you had a Miu Miu belt?
Foodie: STOP GOING THROUGH MY STUFF! AND STOP WEARING MY CLOTHES!
I didn’t flip out over the state of the bedroom, which the Beast converts into a gym three or four times a week. He’s usually very good about putting everything away. However, there is a part of me, mostly the olfactive part, that wishes he’d just get a gym membership.
This morning, I offered to make us some soft-boiled eggs and toast. It’s the simplest of breakfasts, and one that I had to look up in a cookbook. That’s right: I don’t know how to boil an egg. More precisely, I always forget how to boil an egg so that it comes out with a firm white part, with no snotty bits, and a golden, runny–but not too runny–yolk.
I turned to Mark Bittman’s How to Cook Everything first. But you had to poke a hole into the egg first. It was just too complicated. Next I looked up “soft-boiled egg” in my Canadian Living cookbook. I liked the sounds of this one better: bring some eggs to a boil and then continue to boil them for another four to five minutes. Done.
My favourite part about having a soft-boiled egg is putting into my favourite egg cup; a little Bunnykins Royal Doulton one that I’ve had since I was a kid.
Almost as exciting as the cup (which I don’t actually use to hold the egg since every egg I put in there just sinks to the bottom of the cup–have eggs gotten smaller?) is the anticipation of cutting the top off of the egg to reveal that golden goodness inside.
I overdid the eggs, on account of not paying attention to the clock. No matter; we each dressed up our breakfast in our own unique ways. The Beast mashed his eggs in a bowl and doused them with salt and pepper.
While I chose a more decorous presentation.
It was such a nice way to start the day. Later on, the Beast retired to the living room and I to the dining room, which also doubles as my study.
Beast (yelling): COME IN HERE AND BE WITH ME!
Foodie (going into the living room and finding the Beast in a mint green house coat curled up on the couch): Are you trying to look cute on purpose?
Beast: Who, me? I’m just listening to Duke Ellington and reading about totalitarianism. Care to join?
Foodie: Ah, I’d love to but I have to get in a few hours of work, and if I don’t do it now, I’m a goner.
Beast: I’m going to watch Shoah later?
Foodie: Is that supposed to tempt me to stay?
Maybe next Saturday. And there’s a prize for anyone who can give me the simplest-to-remember, fool-proof instructions on how to soft/medium boil an egg.