Sunday morning. What do you do? Mrs F ran 12.5 miles. I read this. She asked what we had won. Nothing! Can you believe our brilliance has yet to be recognised by those in the foody know how world? Well yes. Pleased to see a local establishment made it though.
Loafing on a Sunday. Scrambled eggs. It took me years to realise they are supposed to be a little runny. Not a hideous bouncey yellow blob. That’s the technical term. Imagine large hotel breakfasts. Scrambled eggs sweating in a stainless steel prison, constantly warmed and topped up with yet more yellow rubber. Shudders.
But they have to be the right eggs. And I’ve tried it many times with bog standard free range eggs. And it isn’t right. The best organic it has to be. You know I’m only a little bit a food snob. Trust me on this. Gorgeous sunny yellowness. There was a lady at my old plot who kept chickens and made the yellowist (yes it is a word) cakes. Assuming Mr Fox hadn’t visited of course.
Then off to the plot to pick some leeks. Should have picked more for a chunkier topping. Puff pastry, softened leeks and tallegio cheese. Bought frozen puff pastry of course. Try rolling it out when it’s frozen, that’ll build up the old muscles.