O.’s applying chapstick to his chin, K.’s in the kitchen cooking eggs to order, I’m counting down to hot coffee, eating pineapple chunks out of a bowl on the table. I can’t remember ever answering so many questions about my ideal fried egg. I didn’t even know I had preferences at that granularity. Those two on the plate were pretty close, just a few seconds more on the yolk to harden up the white around it.
January 29, 2012
Fried eggs, toast, pineapple, and coffee
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January 1, 2012
Fried eggs, toast, and bacon
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S. fried my eggs hard just like I like them, slid them into a large shallow bowl because all the plates were dirty, dropped in four slices of bacon and two slices of toast, and urged the butter. Cheese toast with really good butter is amazing. He was right.
December 9, 2011
Eggs, toast, home fries, and bacon
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Then B. called, we were both near campus, and we both had to get to Cobble Hill. What were the chances? So she picked me up in her car and drove me to Cobble Hill and we ate breakfast in a restaurant and gossiped about libraries.
October 30, 2011
Eggs, bacon, pigs in blankets, and donuts
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October 7, 2011
S. and I, slouched at an outside table at the Australian place on Vanderbilt, fresh off a political disagreement and some study hours, plates of eggs.
July 23, 2011
Eggs, beans, potatoes, and chiles
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Sometimes everything just works out, you book a trip to Reykjavik, your friend M. books a trip to New York, you need a cat sitter, she needs a place to stay. Lucky my flight leaves much later tonight, so we got to grab lunch together. Luckily, the shitty brunch place was closed for a baby shower, so we were forced two more blocks to the taco place, great brunch, great catching up, and she picked up the check. A perfect last lunch before I’m faced with aisles of whale filets and sheep heads.
May 28, 2011
There’s a scene in the movie Girls Just Want to Have Fun, a movie that FYI does not hold up it is truly awful, Our Nemesis, the rich-bitch rival dancer, stands in front of her gigantic automated closet, scrolling through her clothes with a remote control looking for the right outfit. Decisions are the worst she sighs, cue humorous ba-dum-dum sound effect, cut to Our Heroine, consigned to her Catholic school uniform, virtuous in her sad little poor-girl trap. Too many choices, not enough choices, beyond hungry, not hungry at all, why not this plate of eggs on the way to where I’m going?
May 8, 2011
French toast, eggs, berries with cream, croissants, coffee, and a bloody mary
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So it’s January and I’m in NOLA visiting K., and we go out to dinner with K. and her new girlfriend, the girlfriend brings her friend from New York, we’re all talking, turns out J. knows M. from grad school at UNO years ago, there are four people in the world! Fast forward to May, M. has us both over for brunch in Bay Ridge, a place I had never been before. We ate and then took S. for a walk down by the water, perfect sky, a perfect perfect blue.
March 20, 2011
Egg scramble, fruit salad, and crumpets
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Want a piece of turkey bacon? asked A., handing me a slice. I should always be greeted this way. C. made the fruit salad, A. toasted crumpets, I took mine drizzled with the prickly pear cactus honey from the ranger station gift shop at Red Rock Canyon. We ate and told stories and I dumped all my ideas out on the table while A. wrote them down and sorted them into groups. I’m dreaming too small, like an ant moving crumbles of cracker. Knives and forks, as B. used to say, where all the rest have plastic spoons.
January 1, 2011
Eggs, hashbrowns, bacon, toast
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We’re in our natural habitat said K. as we ordered twin All American Slams (no sausage, all bacon, but K. ordered a biscuit) at the Denny’s next to the New Orleans airport. I ordered a set of something called Pancake Puppies for the table, but our server told us the chef would have to make the batter from scratch so we did without. I was still totally shaken from the gnarly landing, describing it over and over again, telling K. to please, if that ever happens, just know I had a good life and whatever I feel it won’t be anything I can’t handle all earnest and true. A man at the table next to us ordered a prime rib omelette, but was told the manager says we don’t have a button for that. We were L.O.L.ing. Gonna be a good week.
