Night of a long, elation filled day, I finished my interview questions for philanthropist, banker, and poet, William Gothorpe, and slugged a pint of IPA. Memory tells me I'd eaten twice already (kielbasa sandwich and fries at Bistro 186, and leftover Luna pizza), but holy smokes was I swooning! My roommate came home and found me quite tipsy and very hungry. Roommates are good things and better when they give you a muffin (in this case, an "English" one by Thomas). I knew what needed to be done.I needed to do make another late night breakfast. I'd recently rekindled my old love for making elaborate breakfasts while more than one sheet to the wind. In all my years, I never injured myself by flame or blade or hot iron, and this would be no different. I used the "mom technique" and lopped off a couple healthy leaves of kale. If you look carefully, you can see which ones I cut. Do you see any thumb blood? No, you don't.
This particular bundle of kale was retrieved from the employee garden at Nasami farm in Whatley, MA. Perhaps I should say, "stolen," because I am not an employee there, never was. Nonetheless, I took my 8 inch chef knife and drew it along both sides of the main veins. This produced four halves, which I rolled up and treated to a little chiffonade.Meanwhile, I cracked a single egg into my smallest cast iron skillet (note to roommate, please don't wash it with soap), set the Thomas muffin to toast, and prepped the remaining elements whilst the egg firmed up: shaved red onion, two fat slabs of really nice fontina. Then went ding the toaster oven; then went woooo the butter onto the muffin. I removed the egg and rapidly sauteed the kale.
Here is a verbal diagram of the sandwich, bottom to top:
bottom muffin, eggy weggy, fontina slabs, onion, kale pile, black pepper, cock sauce, top muffin.
Here is a picture of the beast after I injured its yellow heart:
As you can see, the owl in the upper right-hand corner of the frame approves this sandwich. I approved of it too...in under two minutes. Then I returned to desk-land and banged out four poems. Then I returned to sleep-land for nearly the 12 thousandth time.
