Green, Eggs, and Prosciutto

Saturday, Feb. 15, 2003 - 9:06 am
Ap�sl�min ida corbalanyrtne 'ls�o rohl'daathi�m v� nen�a iroyss�rd.

I'm in Arroyo Grande, CA this morning, availing myself of a friend's kitchen, computer and internet access. Let's call the friend, um...Tasha. And Clive is her husband, and Sugar Magnolia is their baby, and Mazed and Dr. Egg are their cats. (Some of these names have not been changed to protect the innocent, because I can't summon the inspiration to come up with worthy fictitious equivalents.)

I've just finished making breakfast for my best beloveds: an egg mess on a tortilla. For those of you who wish to Be Like 'Zaziel, an egg mess is scrambled eggs (Don't beat the eggs!) cooked with anything in the refrigerator that looks appetizing and mold-free. This morning, I chose mozzarella cheese, prosciutto, and basil. NO SALT--the cheese and ham have enough salt in 'em. Freshly ground pepper is all the seasoning you need. And a pinch of dry mustard. And a bit of paprika, if you like that sort of stuff. Which I do.

Warm a tortilla over a gas burner. Slop a portion of the egg mess onto the tortilla, fling down some chopped red onion (just a smattering, don't pile it on, people tend to be too heavy-handed with the onion, we have a definite onion-abuse problem in this country), cram in some fresh baby spinach (sooo LA--none of the Pretty People eat lettuce anymore), wrap and serve.

Yesterday, I had to truck some sculpture from Santa Monica to a gallery near here; the Fiend and Jer insisted on coming with me. Valentine's Day gave us an excuse to turn the trip into a weekend idyll, so we're gonna stay north and wander around the central coast 'til Monday. The drive up was gorgeous. After all this rain (four-and-a-quarter inches in my rain gauge), the only word for California is verdant. The green glow bouncing off the hills is almost blinding.

~

I phoned my house, where the Lunch Bunch is eating breakfast at this very moment, recovering from last night's festivities. The Semi-Annual Valentine's Day Massacre Marshmallow Cook-Off And Orgy. Mario (my former boyfriend) tells me someone broke a bottle of olive oil in the kitchen, but all my other possesions are intact.

Olive oil. Slippery. Mmm. Reminds me of something. Hehe.

More about all this later.

~

Whoops, almost forgot. Here's a picture of Eros with dreadlocks and an Early Classical Teeny Peeny, Uncut Version.

<~>
Ap�sl�min ida corbalan� 'lse nesgla ugar�-cham sa cru ogrulho bat�oltha al�mv�sde.

last eleven: