You know that scene in Castaway, where Tom Hanks starts prancing around like a madman, beating his chest and proudly exclaiming, “I have made fire!“? I had a moment like that this morning.
But instead of fire, it was scrambled eggs.
I was up dark and early, when my alarm woke me at 3:15 a.m. No, I didn’t want to get up at such an ungodly hour, but Tara left for Mexico this morning and had a very early flight out of Milwaukee. Despite what Billy Crystal says to Meg Ryan in When Harry Met Sally – “you take someone to the airport, it’s clearly the beginning of a relationship” – I wasn’t about to have my wife call an Uber, ’cause that might’ve been the end of a relationship. Besides, she would do the same for me.
Here’s the crazy thing: it was, of course, pitch dark when we left. The round trip drive to MKE and back took two hours, plus I stopped for gas and coffee, and did my weekly grocery shopping (figured I might as well beat the crowds). Got all that done and it was still dark when I arrived back home some three hours later. I swear, it felt like I would never see daylight again.
By that point I’d been up for ages and was getting hungry, so I decided to made breakfast. Which was a total novelty. I’m a pretty good cook, but Tara is always the one to make breakfast. It’s kind of her jam (even when jam isn’t part of the menu). She can build mouthwatering omelettes out of the simplest ingredients, makes killer buttermilk biscuits from scratch, and her homemade Hollandaise sauce rivals that of any restaurant. I might be able to poach an egg in a pinch, but I’d have to watch a YouTube video first.
TL;DR: Tara is the breakfast queen.
Scrambled eggs aren’t particularly challenging, but I hadn’t made them in years, so I was a little rusty. Which is why, when they turned out edible, I did the whole Castaway routine. “I have made eggs!” I declared proudly to the cats, who were much less impressed with this chest-thumping accomplishment than me.
After breakfast, I decided to head out in search of a ham hock, as one does. The grocery store didn’t have any, so I decided to check Jones Market. Nothing there, so I headed to Heritage Country Meats. Still nada, so it was off to Pick ‘n Save.
I ended the day 0-for-4.
Where does one go for a stinkin’ ham bone ’round these parts?! Geez Louise, you’d think I was on the hunt for gooseneck barnacles or grade A Tahitian vanilla bean pods or something. I need one for the split pea soup I’m making next week, because Tara hates split pea soup (among many other things). I always take advantage of her absences by cooking favorite dishes that aren’t a regular part of the rotation because she doesn’t like them. Many of these foods only come out to play when she’s away, so they end up feeling (and tasting) extra special.
Should I find that ham bone, I promise not to do a Tom Hanks “I have made split pea soup!” dance though.
(Maybe.)
I should have just plopped down in my recliner the moment I got back this morning, because this is already feeling like the longest day of my life. It’s only 1:30 but my internal clock is convinced the sun should have set by now. Guess I won’t be burning the midnight oil, but I do have a pile of DVDs ready to go and two cats eager for lap time, so it promises to be a relaxing evening nevertheless.
Mark My Words 
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