I wish you could see my breakfast right now. It’s so pretty. Alas, the camera is on its way to a machine sale at Lanark in the front of the van right now, so my powers of description should be put to the test (as well as the powers of typing with one hand as breakfast is too good to allow to become congealed).
So, from the bottom up:
Suspiciously unstale plastic ‘wholemeal’ bread, toasted and spread with homemade garlic butter, which was left over from the other night. (Hooray for the stick blender!)
Ripped round lettuce leaves for the base (the only item that isn’t left over).
Two thick slices of halloumi, dry fried till rubbery and nutty, topped with a perfect poached egg and a lightly fried, sliced, gutted, half tomato that I didn’t fancy facing in a lunchtime cachumba. Beetroot puree with lime a la Nigella (her book, Kitchen) on the side.
Can you see the colours? Brown and green with pale yellow and white, sunshine yolk and soft red, finished with magenta.
Nothing wasted. Halloumi and beetroot because Himself fancied me rustling up a starter one night; garlic butter because it is fabulous (if you buy a garlic baguette, how can you have left over butter?); one of the remaining eggs in the two trays Himself picked up for £3 on Christmas Eve and the tomato.
Hedonist puritanism at its best. Nothing wasted, but destined instead to become a soul-feeding joy; a reward for being dragged out of bed at 5.35am on a school day.