Lovely sunny morning, maybe we could go out for breakfast? Maybe someplace by the water, that would be nice.
On second thoughts, why should I leave my nice comfortable house on a Sunday morning? That would require hair brushing and the like. Seems like effort, pants to that. I’m a food blogger, aren’t I? I can make Eggs Florentine; it can’t be that hard, surely.
Well, it appears Eggs Florentine are a wee tiny incy bit more effort than I had initially thought. Full epic fail instructions are as follows:
- Clatter about in pots and pans cupboard, making as much noise as possible. Wake boyfriend and possibly neighbours; if you’re up they can’t need much more sleep.
- Put toast under grill and promptly forget about it.
- Perfectly poach the eggs (gold star!) and feel immensely proud. So proud that electric kettle is inadvertently placed on the hot stove ring (which has obviously been left on. Obviously).
- Vaguely smell burning toast, ignore.
- Melt butter for the hollandaise sauce.
- Realise that toast has been charred, curse loudly and put fresh bread under the grill. Resolve to pay much more attention in future.
- Think the burning toast smell has a funny plastic tinge to it. Must be imagining things.
- Scramble the eggs making the first batch of hollandaise, damn it. Stomp about a bit in frustration.
- Remember to check the toast (hooray!).
- Suddenly realise electric kettle is melting rapidly, filling kitchen with noxious kettle fumes.
- Curse. A lot. Very loudly. In multiple languages.
- Run out into garden with melted kettle and flail about for a bit, not knowing what exactly to do with it.
- Open all windows and doors.
- Snap at emerging boyfriend enquiring about burning kitchen. He should be grateful that breakfast is being made for him.
- Stand back, take one large (kettle filled breath) and start again
The second time around I faired much better. However, this dish does require good timing and quick thinking and so maybe it’s not ideal for first thing on a Sunday morning.