Weekend mornings are the best. First, I get to sleep in past 5am. Second, I get to eat breakfast at home, not in front of a screen, usually with sunlight streaming in through the window and M. facing me across the table.
Our usual weekend breakfasts run towards the savory side, with lots of vegetables (leftovers from Friday’s dinner–there’s only so much cooking I want to do in the morning!) an egg or two, and a bit of bacon for M. This week he skipped his bacon and eggs in favor of beef that was leftover from a Friday work event, which meant that I was completely freed up to cook my eggs exactly the way I like them. When it comes to fried eggs, our preferences are pretty much as polar opposite as it gets: he likes runny yolks and a soft, unblemished white; I live for those bits of browned and crispy buttery white, and am totally willing to sacrifice any semblance of runny yoke to get as much crisped white as I can. We make it work, but I’m not going to complain about this arrangement either.
We finished off the table setting with our collection of condiments (the pepper grinder is a little leaky, so it lives in a saucer), and two steaming cups of Earl Grey, served in my favorite “fancy” cups.
Breakfast is served.