The day had started with the most wonderful of ambitions: a road trip to the ocean, a short hike, a picnic, maybe even a visit to the apple farm on the way home. A little exploring, a little adventure, a perfect Saturday plan.
Maybe it was the morning fog or the chilly temperatures or the headachy and expensive breadth of our planning. Or maybe we just needed a quiet morning. But at some point we realized that we had lost our zeal. put down our elaborate escapes. We were staying put.
So we made breakfast: farm eggs fried in butter and olive oil with a dash of smoked paprika tossed in towards the end and a little crunchy sea salt and fresh black pepper sprinkled on top; rosemary bread, toasted and buttered; a cup of strong hot English tea brewed in chipped mugs. Outside, wispy bits fog caught in the trees and tugged at the sunshine as it struggled to come out. Inside we licked the bright orange pimentòn from our forks and sunk further into our torpor.
We draped ourselves on couches and talked about the books we've read and mutual friends and what was going to happen next in our lives. We drank a cup of tea, and then another, and then another. This was a rare time, with no need to go anywhere or do anything else or be anyone else. A quiet morning at home with an old friend, easy and contented and lazy. This is what a belly full of good food, and a heart full of good friendship, brings.
Recipe: Pimentòn Fried Eggs
(Image: Dana Velden)