The Simple Things
So we've all been vaguely amused by my highly dubious foray into online dating last year;
Divorce Year.
Yep, it sucked to be me.
One of the "duties" required of the profile build was to state three things that truly described YOU. There was a choice of about 4 heartfelt quotes...to describe the individual, yeah? Just 4.
It was a very high-brow experience NEVER to be repeated.
One thing rang true though, and it was the fact that I love "the simple things in life".
Anyone following jojofrankenstein on Instagram (yes, my middle name is Frances and yes, my parents still think they're so hilarious 21 years later...) will know my undying love of the beach in the morning.
Nothing beats a strong, milky coffee and Vegemite toast after a 13 hour flight when you didn't get time to brush your teeth (it happens people!!!)
A glass of wine with your second-best-friend......
"These are not good, mum. Dad's are much better" is way too much honesty from an 8 year old.
I thought I would try an old favourite; poached eggs on sourdough toast!
How could I fail? There was no way. And I would be producing something, for which I would pay $12 amongst good company in Surry Hills, in my dark and humble kitchen (with a flickering fluoro because I'm flummoxed by the simple choice between "warm white" bulbs at Bunnings and "cool white"...wha??? Does it matter? Can I still see to make my coffee after a 13 hour flight? Can said fluoro make Vegemite toast? These are critical questions....)
Poached Eggs.
Eggs.
Hot water. Simple.
Simple.
Simple.
Tiny bubbles of steam burst over the fabulous Jamie-pan and I decided this must be the moment. Fetch Free-Range eggies from fridge...now, I am, at heart, a gen-u-ine farm girl, raised on the land so I know that eggies really come from the deepest, darkened smelly depths of a terrifyingly haunted pecky place called the Chook Pen. I did not like going there. So I, the Elder, tasked the Middle Child to do that feathery, scratchy job throughout our magical childhood.
She doesn't live near me any more.
Back to free range eggs and the Jamie-pan with its gently simmering water....
I sniffed the water to ensure its goodness. I have no idea why. But Gary, George and Matt do that on Masterchef, so I figured that I too, should.
I sensed naught. Better add a good knob of butter and salt.
Tap the free range Eggie Gem on the side of my humble bench (Ooops!!! Dropped it, slipped in the slop, Jimmy the Ginger Cat advanced gleefully for an illegit lick... get another quick, before the Jamie-pan dries out!)
CRACK! SPLIT! DROP!
I am making poached eggs. I am soooo into the simple things in life.
Divorce Year.
Yep, it sucked to be me.
One of the "duties" required of the profile build was to state three things that truly described YOU. There was a choice of about 4 heartfelt quotes...to describe the individual, yeah? Just 4.
It was a very high-brow experience NEVER to be repeated.
One thing rang true though, and it was the fact that I love "the simple things in life".
Anyone following jojofrankenstein on Instagram (yes, my middle name is Frances and yes, my parents still think they're so hilarious 21 years later...) will know my undying love of the beach in the morning.
Nothing beats a strong, milky coffee and Vegemite toast after a 13 hour flight when you didn't get time to brush your teeth (it happens people!!!)
A glass of wine with your second-best-friend......
is only superseeded by a good chat with your mum....
And one of life's simplest pleasures, to me, is cooking.
I rather fancy myself as a bit of a Masterchef.
I once made a Coq Au Vin so organic and wholesome that it nearly turned my beloved Vegetarian sister-in-law (she said the sauce was really good! Yawp!!)
I once made Moroccan Beef Kebabs that did, indeed, turn my die-hard Veggie BFF from school a beef-eater....
Yet...and yet...
I absolutely cannot master the simple things in the kitchen.
This past weekend's culinary delights involved pancakes from scratch for the kids (because I truly cannot do the "shake and pour" thing by White Wings...)
Burn, baby, BURN.
"These are not good, mum. Dad's are much better" is way too much honesty from an 8 year old.
I thought I would try an old favourite; poached eggs on sourdough toast!
Two ingredients!
How could I fail? There was no way. And I would be producing something, for which I would pay $12 amongst good company in Surry Hills, in my dark and humble kitchen (with a flickering fluoro because I'm flummoxed by the simple choice between "warm white" bulbs at Bunnings and "cool white"...wha??? Does it matter? Can I still see to make my coffee after a 13 hour flight? Can said fluoro make Vegemite toast? These are critical questions....)
Poached Eggs.
Eggs.
Hot water. Simple.
Simple.
Simple.
I selected the pan that looked most like one from Jamie Oliver's "Meals in 30 Minutes" ( 30 minutes?? Are you kidding me? That's how long it took to get out of the car park at Woollies after making a special trip to buy the pantry basics every kitchen should have...)
My Jamie-pan was blue and heavy-based. I was feeling ever so chef-like. I TOTALLY believed in what I was doing. There was no TRY, because I knew I could DO.
Get the water simmering, bubble bubble, oh so nice. Better pour a glass of wine to while away the waiting time. Oh no wait, it's breakfast. Coffee!!! Hurrah for coffee!
Tiny bubbles of steam burst over the fabulous Jamie-pan and I decided this must be the moment. Fetch Free-Range eggies from fridge...now, I am, at heart, a gen-u-ine farm girl, raised on the land so I know that eggies really come from the deepest, darkened smelly depths of a terrifyingly haunted pecky place called the Chook Pen. I did not like going there. So I, the Elder, tasked the Middle Child to do that feathery, scratchy job throughout our magical childhood.
She doesn't live near me any more.
Back to free range eggs and the Jamie-pan with its gently simmering water....
I sniffed the water to ensure its goodness. I have no idea why. But Gary, George and Matt do that on Masterchef, so I figured that I too, should.
I sensed naught. Better add a good knob of butter and salt.
Tap the free range Eggie Gem on the side of my humble bench (Ooops!!! Dropped it, slipped in the slop, Jimmy the Ginger Cat advanced gleefully for an illegit lick... get another quick, before the Jamie-pan dries out!)
CRACK! SPLIT! DROP!
I am making poached eggs. I am soooo into the simple things in life.
I go to fetch large glass of wine (Oh wait, nope, this is brekky and coffee, hurrah for coffee) and wait for the magic to happen in the Jamie-pan.
What the heck are those white spidery things crawling out the side of my Free-Rangers?
Why am I looking at a yellow cirrus cloud instead of a golden beachball of yolk?
Why is the "gently simmering" Jamie-water spitting ferocious spears at me?
The perfect poached eggs have gone all free-range in my Jamie-pan and spread their chooky legs through the gently simmering water!!! Nooooooooo! I am not eating THAT simple delight. Blerghhh.
Not to mention the wretched burnt sourdough I prepared earlier....
Anyone for cafe brekky in Surry Hills? $12 is totally worth it!
This is a favourite track from Ellie Goulding....Anything Could Happen...there is no TRY, only DO (eeeeeeek!!!)
Comments
Post a Comment