Last night I had my friend Eve over for spinach pie. She brought glorious tomato cucumber salad and a lemon meringue tart. A fine meal with good company. And some wine — unusual for me, but I was somewhat goaded by the warm winds of spring and my own desire to toast the next phase of my life.
Today I celebrate the memory of my mother, Helen. French toast was her favorite breakfast, so after church I cooked up a batch using the bread I made the other day and an egg wash with cinnamon and vanilla mixed in. Topped with Grade B maple syrup and berries, it was delicious.
My breakfast was large and late so I think I'll skip lunch today. I already know what's on the docket for dinner — a hearty slice of leftover spinach pie, eaten cold on my balcony with a glass of iced tea. And, of course, another slice of tart, eaten in the same fashion.
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