Breakfast of (Tennis) Champions, Plus Blueberry Cake

This morning, while making coffee in the kitchen.

Beast: Did I tell you that I saw the funniest thing ever yesterday?  I wish you could have seen it.  It was a guy who looked EXACTLY like a cave man driving a Porsche.

Foodie: That is pretty funny. Can you get the papers?

Beast: It was so funny that I desperately looked around for somebody to share it with and almost grabbed a complete stranger and said, “Look! It’s Encino man driving a fucking boxster!”

Foodie: Hey, do you want to play tennis and then we’ll come home and I’ll make some breakfast?

Beast: (Pause) Yes.

Foodie: Really? This is great!

Upstairs waiting for the Beast to get dressed for the tennis game.

Foodie: Are you almost ready?

Beast: Silence

Foodie: Come on man! Look at you! You’re being a spaz!

Beast: What are you talking about?

Foodie: You’re downloading music, listening to a record, looking for another record and playing the guitar all at the same time while you’re in your underwear and supposed to be getting dressed!

Beast: Do you you really think I have a problem?

Foodie: YES.

Beast: Do you think that I have a beautiful mind or a terrible mind?

Foodie: It’s a beautiful mind. (Pause)  But I think you suffer from too much beauty up there, like a model.

The Beast puts on the Miles Davis’s 80s jazzy instrumental rendition of Cindy Lauper’s Time After Time.

Beast: Who’s suffering now?

Walking to play tennis.

Beast: I’m a little sad.

Foodie: About Jack Layton?

Beast: No, about how being a jazz musician is totally irrelevant. It’s like an Olympic athlete who’s training for a sport that’s no longer sanctioned by the Olympics.

Walking back after playing tennis.

Foodie: Well that was fun!

Beast: I can’t believe how out of shape I am though.

Foodie: You’ll get back into it.  And you were good.

Beast: I know I was good–I won the first four sets. But you always start out slow and then improve.

Foodie: That’s true.  And you always start out like a spaz and use up all of your energy.

Beast: Actually, I start out not caring about winning and I play well and then I like how it feels to win and then it’s all I fucking care about and I stop winning.

Foodie: You know something? I love winning, but I never feel good when I beat you.

Beast: Then why were you cheering and laughing like a maniac when you won the last two sets?

Breakfast was some heated up left-over roasted potatoes, rye toast, scrambled eggs with chives in them and delicious little breakfast sausages (that I took out of the freezer after getting home late from a dinner with my friend Laura at Enoteca Sociale. The idea to cook them for breakfast struck me on my bike ride home.)

Foodie: God, these are good scrambled eggs.

Beast: Did you make them Gordon-Ramsay style? (That’s when you put the eggs and a generous pat of butter into a sauce pan and stir them constantly with a spatula over medium-low heat until they’re done. It might, for all I know, be just the normal way to make scrambled eggs but I saw him do it first.)

Foodie: Sure did. They’re overcooked by his standards but I don’t like them too runny. Hey, did I tell you that some website linked to FATB and they said the funniest thing about us.  They said, “The foodie in this duo doesn’t care about food. That doesn’t make sense but we don’t mind because her interest in food history makes up for it. The beast? He makes up for her lack of all other foodie interests.”

Beast: That is so true! You don’t care about food! And I do make up for it!

Foodie: I want to make either Susie’s mom’s blueberry cake today or an apple cake from a recipe I found on the Smitten Kitchen blog. Which one do you want?

Beast: Well, since apples have no place being in cakes, I’ll take the blueberry cake. It’s the one with the crumble on top, right?

That’s the one.  I’ve actually made the cake a few times but it’s never turned out the way it did when my friend Susie made it.  Hers was so light and fluffy and it was studded with bursting blueberries. I don’t know if I transcribed the recipe correctly. Maybe if she reads this, she can check.

Just about to take the cake out of the oven.

Beast: I’m going to band practice now.

Foodie: Well, will you look at you! What a lovely outfit! I think I read that contrasting patterns on top and bottom are going to be trendy this autumn.

Beast: What, this? It’s Joe on top, Dior in the middle and Joe on the bottom.

Foodie: Joe Fresh?

Beast: Uh, yeah?! Is that cake done? It smells amazing!

Foodie: It’s done but it needs to cool so you’ll have to wait to have a piece.

And so too will I, because now I get to go meet Erinn for dinner at Terroni. I’m certain we’ll have a grand evening.

Foodie: **

Beast: **

Stay tuned for feedback on the blueberry cake!

….it turned out fine but not as good as I remember Susie’s being.  Maybe I shouldn’t have made it in the tube pan but I don’t have a 9 x 9 in. pan so I improvised.

4 responses to “Breakfast of (Tennis) Champions, Plus Blueberry Cake

  1. That is the normal way to make scrambled eggs. That Scotch #&*%@# has never had an original idea in his head. Notice that I was able to reply without using “fuckin” 80 times as he would have.

  2. Hi!
    I think you changed the original wording for a couple of the ingredients, but otherwise it looks good. I find it takes ages to bake (more than 40 mins) and I always add a lot of the topping. The last time I made it, I started an oven fire when the topping toppled over. Oh yes, I also double the recipe.

    I guess I’m not the feedback, but it’s kind of cool to read “stay tuned” and feel like part of something. By the way, we love love love love love Simon’s album. Remind me to tell you the story of the boy who wrote “love love love love love love love” to his mother (that he no longer knew). Um, that’s all for now. Maybe we’ll see you in a couple of weeks! xoxoxooxoxox

    • Your original wording was much better. I remember that it said something like, “one unborn chicken” instead of one egg.

      The cake turned out just fine (the Beast has eaten half of it.) But it still pales in comparison to my memory of yours. Funny how that works, isn’t it?

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