Making Breakfast For Your Love

One by one crack three farm fresh eggs (you want them to be fresh and local if possible, so that the shells are thick) and toss the yolks from shell to shell allowing the whites to discard themselves into a designated bowl. When you are done you will have three bright orange or yellow little yolks shimmering proudly and standing round and tall against a stainless steel bowl. Whisk them together for about a min and add 1 Tbsp cold water and the juice from 1 lemon. Have a stick of unsalted better melted on the stove.

If you have ghee, use 8 Tbsp of ghee instead of unsalted butter.

Forget about your finances. Forget about the fun party you went to, the people you met and the dancing you did or didn't do. Forget about your troubled cat that bites and claws at the door at night. Forget about the work left undone, the things left unsaid, the errands that await your Monday morning arrival. Stir it all into the bright yellow moment of a Saturday morning light reflecting off of the green plants in the windowsill. Your hair is glowing the way it did when you were little, and you bounded down the stairs in children's pajamas and slid along the smooth kitchen floor, halted by the smell of breakfast.

Heat a pot of water until it bubbles and steams like a cauldron. Add 2 Tbsp of the melted butter to the egg mixture and mix together. Set your stainless steel bowl on top of the steam (or use a double boiler) and whisk the egg yolks vigorously to prevent the egg from separating and cooking (if it does, add a little cold water to save it) No matter how tricky or hopeless your efforts may seem, don't give up on the hollindaise sauce. Your energy and attention will keep it together. When the sauce is thick and creamy, remove from the heat and slowly drizzle in the remaining butter, whisking all the while. Keep the sauce on the edge of the stove so it stays warm while preparing the rest of breakfast. Season with a little salt, pepper, lemon zest and hot sauce.

Eugene nips at my ankles while I am poaching the eggs. The water is covered in egg froth and bubbles up a glimpse of yolk from time to time, it is like looking for jellyfish along a foamy seashore.

"Can we take a month off and go to the beach next year?" Christina says from the long red couch where she lounges with her coffee.

"Sounds good to me" I said, putting two pieces of toast in the toaster and heating up some oil in a wok to fry some kale.

"We could invite our families too, your parents and my parents. Or maybe we could go to Stone Harbor, to get everyone together to meet." She says.

"That would be nice. " I say, although it seems like an impossible dream. We are living in black and white. It is the great depression of the 21st century, in between the newspaper headlines. Christina and I are on a rocky boat in a tempest building card houses as though floating on a calm sea. When the storm passes we will have built a grand palace.

When the toast pops, and the kale is cooked and eggs are poached, assemble them together so that they resemble two row boats side by side, floating on a sea of kale with an egg in each boat. Top lovingly with hollindaise.