Breakfast Experiment

Having made it through two days of Jury Duty in NYC, I have since been in NJ taking care of my post-shoulder-op mother, so I'm a little out of the loop. To make things more confusing, we are celebrating Mother's Day tomorrow, rather than last week, so expect some kind of wrap-up on that done in a foreign kitchen. I have been cooking up a storm here (feeding both my parents, ah how the tables have turned) as well as doing the menial daily tasks of laundry, errand running, scolding the patient for removing her sling less than 48 hrs after invasive surgery, and keeping track of at least four medications.
I think I shall need a nurse/caretaker when I get back to the city.
Until then, I leave you with one of my less sane attempts at breakfast making. (I mean really, who eats soft boiled eggs other than characters in English novels from the 1800's?)

For some reason I had soft-boiled eggs on the brain, and decided to try to make them for breakfast.

I will not be having that urge again any time soon.

I served my two soft-boiled eggs (no I won't even bother telling you how I did it because I'm sure it was wrong) on a piece of whole wheat toast with a mesclun salad on the side. I guess that almost qualifies as Brunch, but as I am not especially fond of Brunch, we'll stick with Breakfast.

Dressing consisted of the juice of half a lemon, about a dime's worth of dijon mustard, salt, and some good olive oil. Done in seconds.

I do not recommend trying to peel soft-boiled eggs. They are hot and temperamental.

However, seasoned with some garlic salt and grated pecorino, they were quite tasty.

They also would have been good with some Bloody Mary Salt.

What have I learned from this experiment?

Just make poached eggs.

They are very similar in texture and consistency, and vastly easier to make.

At least for me.

Also, the shell is already off before cooking.

Big plus in my book.

Meet the Furballs

Really, it was only a matter of time before I blogged about my cats, right?
Besides, dinner tonight is leftovers of the pasta sauce I made last night, so I don't have anything food-wise to impart to you.
So... cats.

If you don't know me, I have two cats. Keats, who is a very smart girl who can solve complex problems, squeaks rather than meows (unless she has found a sock, at which point she yowls with it in her mouth), and was a rescue so took a solid year before she trusted me enough to sit on my lap.

 

Keats, Intent.

Keats, Adorable.

The other one is Byron, and he is very fluffy, looks very regal, loves to curl up with his head in your cleavage, and unfortunately follows that stereotype of beautiful but dumb. And I'm not being mean. He really is just dumb. Like can't-get-out-of-a-push-to-open-closet-door dumb. Instead he just cries until someone lets him out.
(As a comparison, Keats once stared at Mike's closed dresser, jumped on top of it, pushed the door open with her paw, and then jumped down again so she could leap directly into the drawer. Problem: solved.)
But we love him. We just feel badly for Keats sometimes that he's all she has for company.

Byron looking fluffy and majestic.

Byron sleeping upside-down on Mike.

Not. Smart.

So today's Not Smart moment is about Byron learning that Plastic Bags Are Not Toys.  

He stuck his head into a plastic delivery bag, and of course stuck his head through the handle... and panicked. Before I could get to him to remove the bag, he took off like a shot up and down the hall, where it worked its way down his body to his hind legs. Keats started chasing him because he was in such a panic. The noise of the bag, however, scared him so badly I have never seen him run so fast in my life. When I finally cornered him and removed the bag, he slunk in slow motion to the doorway, and spent the next TWO HOURS doing the hunt-crouch all around the apartment. He seemed convinced that the Big Bad Bag was hiding somewhere, just waiting to pounce on him. He didn't even try to sleep on me that night. It wasn't until the next day that he was back to normal.

I can only hope he has actually learned not to stick his head in bags anymore.