People in this town (which I'm now calling T.Daddy, or the Notorious T-D.A.D.) love to give us food. For example, the soup kitchen no longer invites us to join them for lunch; now they run outside to hand us food when we walk by (yesterday our token male artist came home with a chocolate angel food cake he'd been given). And today some lady who keeps chickens brought us two dozen fresh eggs, which I immediately planned to use in my next meal: Breakfast for dinner!
I love breakfast for dinner. It's simple, comforting, filling, delicious. There's protein, grains, and (if you consider the potato a vegetable), a vegetable. How can you go wrong?
I'll tell you how: By living in a convent without even the most basic staples. Nuns do not eat ketchup. Mice do not buy condiments. The food-shelf-people have yet to run outside and hand me a bottle of Heinz 57.
It was not until my potatoes were in the oven, the water for my soft-boiled egg boiling, that I realized I was missing this essential ingredient. In a panic I ran back to Safeway, where I had to walk up and down every aisle before I found the elusive condiment and then wait in the nine-items-or-less lane behind a guy with 20+ items. When I glared at him, the guy yelled, "I'm going as fast as I can!" and then proceeded to drop a handful of change on the floor, which he picked up nickel by nickel before giving up, leaving the rest for "the goddamned janitor."
By the time I got home my home fries were blackened, my egg uncooked, and that chocolate angel food cake was looking pretty good.