Saturday Breakfast.

Saturday Breakfast.

When I hear those 2 words put together like that, I can't express the joy that goes through my heart.  And my stomach.

Saturday Breakfast.

Out of all the inconsistencies and unexpected changes in life, one thing has remained faithful.

Saturday Breakfast.

(It might not always be on a Saturday but that's almost irrelevant.)

It's Friday.  The end of the week.  The weekend is coming and a gloriously hopeful and potential filled question circulates through my mind.

"What am I going to have for breakfast tomorrow?"

This is an exciting quest to ponder of.  Now our normal breakfasts here are all fine and dandy complete with toast and peanut butter and jams of all flavors, cereal, fruit, more peanut butter, tea and the like.  But there's something so great about being able to leisurely wake up and contemplate what creativity I can conjure out of the week's leftovers in the galley.  The choice of the day is almost always eggs.  (Though sometimes buckwheat pancakes and bacon or french toast with caramelized apples makes an appearance...)  I hop up on the counter to reach the egg cupboard, crack them open, whisk it with salt, pepper, and a bit of thyme (along with the inevitable time/thyme jokes...), and make my way to the fridge for what delicious veggies are available for my consumption.  I compile them on the cutting board and chop.  As the cooking process begins, there is an aroma ever so pleasing.  I plate it well (presentation always makes food taste better), sit at the table with knife and fork in hand, (knife in the right and fork in the left like a proper adult) and enjoy what lies before me.

Ahhhh.

Saturday Breakfast.

I don't quite know how to best express in words the goodness that is Saturday Breakfast.

But it's good.