I noted that my spice rack was incomplete this morning. This may come as a surprise to those of you that knew that I was vastly downsizing my kitchen complexity or at least making noises about it.
SwampMan started moaning and groaning about a cold while demanding breakfast of eggs, sausage patties, and grits, then saying things like “Fine *hack* *groan* just make me oatmeal then. No. Don’t make me anything at all! I don’t want you to go to any trouble.” when I asked him how many eggs he wanted, and whether stick sausage would be okay since I didn’t have any ground sausage. Grrrrrr.
It was right then that I started realizing how lacking my spice cabinet was. I have no spices for something like this. No assorted little glass containers of rat poison, or arsenic, or cyanide….
“And be sure you make the grits right. I don’t want them too dry. I want them more liquid. But soft, not hard. And not watery. And you never get the scrambled eggs right.” So, why does he keep asking for them? Why doesn’t he make them himself? It’s a mystery of married life.
Scrambled eggs, you see, are supposed to be “fluffy”. But not wet. And not dry. And the pieces should not be too big. Or too small. And they must be fluffy. Well, my gracious.
I have to tell y’all that I finally succeeded in making SwampMan the perfect scrambled eggs. I could have made them earlier had SwampMan been more articulate as to his egg preferences. He SHOULD have said “Cook me an empty omelette and then cut that shit up.” Now THAT is a description I can go by.