This past weekend I wandered into sis’s kitchen with her and together we began cooking breakfast.  We wanted something simple, scrambled eggs seem to fit the bill nicely.  I remembered the mushrooms leftover after last nights salad and pilfered those out of the crisper drawer. We jabbered and sipped coffee as I sauteed those mushrooms in a small pat of butter, butter pulled from a fresh stick since her house it not totally gluten free.  She cracked the eggs as I 05tossed the mushrooms around waiting for them to get soft, dark brown and deep gray, with just a hint of crispy left when you bite them.  Food should never be soggy, at least not if I am going to eat it.  I threw the eggs mixed with a touch of milk in with the mushroom as she started doing the dishes.

Soon we were all back at the table again, talking and looking at the Sunday morning ads.  The room went still, and suddenly no one was talking or rustling pages.  I looked up at sis, waiting for her to tell me what had happened.  I smiled and laughed when she mumbled “This is REALLY good” with food still in her mouth.
Though I would have loved a savory frittata filled with colorful vegetables and dressed with fresh herbs to feed the ones I love, nothing makes me happier than a table stunned to silence by simple goodness.
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