We had breakfast for supper tonight. An English breakfast – or rather a British one, I’m not trying to exclude – is, perhaps, the perfect meal. In this case, it was bacon, poached eggs, fried potatoes and, slightly from left field, asparagus. But treating asparagus as soldiers to dip into the egg yolk is very good. We still have some bacon and quite a lot of eggs, so we’ll have a variation on the theme on Tuesday (the fishmonger calls on a Monday) when it will be bacon and eggs with fried bread and mushrooms. Possibly some tomatoes if I’ve been shopping.
Breakfast … kedgeree, kidneys, smoked haddock and poached egg, every sort of egg, sausages, kippers, bloaters, devilled bones and so on and so on … can hardly be bettered, surely? Porridge, toast and marmalade and innovations like cereal and yoghurt certainly belong to the morning meal, but the rest can be eaten at any time. A bit animal-product heavy, now I look at it: but that’s traditional, if not necessary.
Anyway, we do have rather an egg mountain, though I think the chickens have been laying away for the last few days. The big brown hen is broody. I’m pretty sure she hasn’t the dedication to sit long enough to raise a brood and it isn’t convenient anyway, just now, so I’m removing any eggs under her, but I shut the chickens in their greenhouse yesterday and got two eggs, whereas there had been none for the previous two days. I don’t know where they’re laying, though. I’m far too unobservant to follow them around and find out.