Turning thirty was pretty painful and spurned on all sorts of existential questions such as: Why am I here? What’s it all for? And how long before my ovaries dry up? Lovely things really, but now that I’ve started to figure out the thirties, I’m pretty darn happy to be here. The way I see it, I’m in a new decade of my life and still very much in the early years of it. Hell, I might as well be in my early twenties for all we know. Just the other day one of the students at uni started chatting me up, thinking I was one of them. Not bad for an aging barbie doll such as myself. Anyway, this year my 33rd was up. I awoke on the morning of the 8th of June and immediately started tossing and turning childishly in order to show my impatience with chef T, who was bustling in the kitchen. Yay! Pancakes! Or so I thought, but boy did these 33 years of experience add up to naught when I finally saw the result of his efforts…
Just look at the beauteous bounties of this perfectly poached egg atop some sourdough toast, crisp asparagus and decked with a sinful and tart hollandaise sauce. Basically eggs florentine, but with asparagus instead of spinach (if there’s a name out there for it and I’ve missed it, please help me out in the comments section). Must be the best breakfast I’ve ever had!
Now let that be a lesson to all of you out there fearing the aging process: Know that there’s plenty of things to sweeten the ride. Wonderful breakfasts prepared by loved ones just to mention one.