I have since the age when I could unburden my mom from making my meals for me eaten cold cereal with milk for breakfast.  Mostly bran flakes with dried fruit.  These days, especially when I get up late, past nine o’clock, say, I’ll make something like this.  It’s not really a proper omelette, but it’s whisked and fried eggs approximating the shape of an omelette with chorizo sausage and a few snippings from the green onions I grow in a cup on my kitchen window.  That’s a faery dusting of parsley and ancho chili powder on top.  There is also a fried tomato on top of a smear of whole-grain mustard.  Yesterday and today and in the near future until I my potential job calls me back, it’s toast and butter and tea and honey for me. Modest pleasures do indeed satisfy.  The terrifying crunch of my savings account is well under way, but in terms of food, I am still living by my estimation incredibly well. 

I have since the age when I could unburden my mom from making my meals for me eaten cold cereal with milk for breakfast.  Mostly bran flakes with dried fruit.  These days, especially when I get up late, past nine o’clock, say, I’ll make something like this. 

It’s not really a proper omelette, but it’s whisked and fried eggs approximating the shape of an omelette with chorizo sausage and a few snippings from the green onions I grow in a cup on my kitchen window.  That’s a faery dusting of parsley and ancho chili powder on top.  There is also a fried tomato on top of a smear of whole-grain mustard. 

Yesterday and today and in the near future until I my potential job calls me back, it’s toast and butter and tea and honey for me. Modest pleasures do indeed satisfy.  The terrifying crunch of my savings account is well under way, but in terms of food, I am still living by my estimation incredibly well.