Sometimes the best things happen when we suspend our conventions. In love, and life, and the kitchen, there really are no recipes, no rules – just a continuum of trial and error. Quoth the lady Julia, after expertly flipping an omelette square onto the side of a saute pan: “you just have to have to courage of your convictions.” And how she stands to embolden us all.
So today I spare the recipe. Though I'm flattered that my mom requested that every page of this modest blog be printed out so that she may try these silly recipes (!), I really can't claim to know many of the rules. I'm just finally in touch with what feels right. I will, with that in mind, share this bangin' breakfast sammy I made today, one that last year's vegan-leanin', dogmatic locavore would have only dreamt of, and never realized. In completely non-structured format, I suggest you toast a couple pieces of bread, brush one with a touch of spicy mustard, fry or scramble an egg, slice up an apple, shred some Wisconsin sharp cheddar, heat up a couple Morningstar veggie patties, stack it all up, and go to town. Life is too short and too rich with potential to worry rules, be they self-imposed or otherwise. And I was too hungry to care that London-cat walked into the frame the instant the shutter turned. 'Cause this little glass of o.j. is half-full, y'all.
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