My favourite meal of the day is breakfast. It’s a novelty for me, as it is fleeting most days of the week. Before work, breakfast is bleary-eyed little me: half dressed, scanning emails or the news on my phone, and accidentally stirring salt into my tea instead of sugar. Sometimes there is slightly burnt toast with vegemite and butter. Sometimes there is $6 airport coffee and miserable plane food. Let’s just say I’m not fond of microwave blasted powdered eggs at 7am in the morning.
When my partner Josh is around, he would always make sure we get something to eat before we scramble out of the house. He is good like that. Sha, let’s get some bacon and eggs into you before we go. I’m frantically brushing my teeth already in the bathroom. Sha, eat your breakfast. I’m shovelling scrambled eggs into my mouth with one hand and putting on my heels with the other. SHA, sit down and eat for christ’s sake!
Our weekends are different.
We stir from a deep slumber at different times. Josh is convinced I’m some kind of a machine – that, or I’m sneaking in drugs behind his back. I sleep until my batteries are charged, and then go go go no matter what hour of the day it is. My body clock awakes me at 6am sharp. Always. I lie awake for half an hour or so, not wanting to wake Josh up as he is still in deep sleep. He’s in REM actually. I can see his eyes flickering under his lids. I feel creepy watching and waiting for him to get up so I lean over very carefully, grab my phone, and check the news and social media for another half hour.
8 am I’m showered, dressed, and preparing coffee in the kitchen. Sometime between my fumbling around for fresh clothes in the dark, singing in the shower, and noisily unloading dishes from the dishwasher – I manage to wake Josh up. He is less predictable. Most times he’s showered, dressed and sitting waiting patiently for coffee. On occasion he is struggling with coming to terms that his body cannot process the amount of alcohol his 21 year old self would have been used to. Then there are times where he is wrecked from a difficult work week and on those days he will not get up until noon.
Whatever type of weekend it is, our breakfast ritual manages to stay the same.
First, I’m greeted by Josh’s scratchy beard or stubble for a morning kiss. We stand by the kitchen sink and watch the neighbour wash his car religiously. The guy never forgets. Every Saturday morning until noon, he’s at his driveway – vacuuming, scrubbing, hosing down, and polishing his big white SUV. Josh and I are wild with imagination. To us, he is a mysterious vigilante killer. He needs to wipe his car clean for DNA evidence. Some mornings we come up with different scenarios. We discuss possible victims for a while until the kettle clicks and we’re ready for coffee. I am the fancy hipster barista minus the fancy hipster coffee machine, and Josh gets to work on breakfast.
Josh is my partner for a number of reasons – one of those being his love of food and cooking. He is a wonderful cook, and great company in the kitchen. Cooking together often consists of sharing beer, wine, tea or coffee whilst curiously flipping through recipes old and new, then swiftly working in a winning team as one of us plays sous chef on the mis en place, and the other plays head chef at the stove.
Being blonde and fair skinned, no one ever suspects that he is part Sri Lankan. With the heritage comes a plethora of exotic recipes: big, bold flavours and hearty, spicy curries. One of my favourite recipes he cooks for me is called “Egg Hoppers”. This is breakfast food, but I would happily eat this for supper, a post gym snack, pre gym snack, midnight snack…you get the drift. Egg Hoppers are a sort of strange, hybrid son of a vietnamese pancake and your everyday sunny side up egg. The sides are crispy and light, and the yolk is runny and golden. My absolute favourite. Remind me in the comments if you would like me to share this recipe with you one day.
Other times Josh makes marbled eggs – a recipe taken from his grandmother. These eggs are luscious and creamy: like restaurant style scrambled eggs but the yolks and whites aren’t fully combined and you’re left with light, silky eggs and mouthfuls of rich, pockets of golden yolk. We have this with bacon or some simple toast.
Eggs are such a staple part of our weekend ritual. Whether it is Josh’s exotic hoppers, marbled eggs, greasy fry ups inspired by his travels in the U.K, or my meticulously trained french omelettes and crepes – we’ll always find a use for them. What are your weekend rituals?
As always…happy feasting, and do mind your table manners.