It's fourteen below out there. The basement has dropped to 50 near the center -- and closer to 40 along the walls. (That's 277.59 Kelvin for you metric people.)
With an electric blanket and two cats, my bed was toasty warm last night; but I had to get up, lest Mister Huck become so frantic he'd try to make his own breakfast, probably from my toes.
As for me, I cooked up home-made corned beef hash, a dish so different to the stuff they put up in cans as to practically need another name--
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| Clean the kitchen, one over hard, garden squeezings and a hot blonde in the sand! (Translate here) |
Yum! It went well with a fried egg. coffee and a nice glass of vegetable juice -- all right, V-8, just like Mister Ford put in cars, once upon a time -- and I'm about as ready for the day as I'll ever be. Is the day ready for me? Probably too ready; I've got to try starting the car and taking the cats to the vet for their shots and physical exams. Wish me luck!
9 comments:
Good luck with the cats. Love the title of your post. And the hash made me want a second breakfast.
Good luck!
Good luck to you! Breakfast looks wonderful.
Be good, kitties!
Going out? Can you do that? Is it legal?
Barely, Drang. Barely.
Jennifer: well, it's not Red Flannel Hash, but it'll do.
I make the same thing, but with sausage. Very good.
Dang! That looks good too!
Second Breakfast!
Love the color of diner lingo.
Noah's Boy!
Gotta watch that, though, cook it too long and it gets harder than ol' Pharaoh's heart.
That picture made me want to try hash again. The canned stuff indeed needs a different name.
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