#but he would be proud of me if I made mushrooms cheese and scrambled eggs on toast….

[k20spock]

i think it’s really funny that so many people have mentioned feeling inspired by senshi to cook something nice for themselves and it’s hit me too now. I’m hungry and I could eat shit but I’m going to make senshi proud I’m going to get adventurous and cook something tasty.

[thecooksjournal]

For the Love of Food

So where does my love of food come from? I firmly believe that my passion for all things food related and my willingness to try almost anything stems from my childhood and my family upbringing. My much loved Nan and Grandad must take most of the credit as from a very early age I was introduced to a wide variety of home-grown and home-cooked foods. My Grandad was an avid gardener growing a whole manner of fruit and vegetables in his garden. He showed me the delights of growing runner beans, cabbage and cauliflower along with a whole range of soft fruit ranging from English plums to gooseberries. My Nan like my Grandad was old school so everything in the kitchen was made from scratch using what was grown in the garden. I can still remember watching her cook and learning how to make pastry and cakes from basic ingredients.

Some of my fondest memories as a child are of the big family meals we had at their house at 218, London Road Waterlooville (sadly now demolished). At various times during the school holidays my cousins, uncles and aunties would all come to stay. This would be a big event for me as we would have fantastic traditional roast dinners with all the trimmings and yes if you didn’t eat your vegetables you most definitely wouldn’t get any dessert! To be honest I wasn’t a fussy eater even as a kid. As I recall it was only Brussels sprouts and Stilton cheese that I could have quite happily avoided throughout those formative years. The only real problem I had at these family meals was whether I could finish my meal and get to that last roast potato before my cousin Glen, who despite being younger than me could always match me for appetite.  My much missed Mum carried on the tradition set by her parents and although home-cooking has changed a lot over the years she has always instilled the same values in me to experiment and try everything at least once.

My Mum worked as a waitress in a local café called The Black Cat Café. I can remember going to work with her on one occasion and being allowed to watch what went on in the kitchen. My clearest memory here is one of the veg prep guys giving me a raw carrot to try. I had always eaten carrots from my Grandad’s garden but cannot recall eating them raw so this was a new experience. Even now I can still taste that distinct flavour which was somewhat of an epiphany moment for me. Like eating your first oyster or you first taste of true caviar this was a profound moment for me.

Another early food memory is also somewhat unusual. My Nan and Grandad lived in a big house next to a petrol station. The station had one of the first vending machines I can remember on the forecourt next to where the air and water could be found. This particular vending machine dispensed milk shake. My particular favourite was a raspberry milk shake which became a firm favourite with me so much so that if ever I had any money this would be my first purchase. The petrol station is still there but the machine has long gone but the taste of this milk shake still lingers in my senses. Every so often if I taste very fresh raspberries I get transported back in time to this very happy period in my life.

Food always seems to give me happy memories so it is probably no surprise that I followed my nose 9and stomach) into the industry. I began my adventure by training  as a Chef at Highbury College in Cosham. At the time I started there I was a fresh faced sixteen year old. The catering facility at Highbury was only a year old and at the time regarded as one of the best places to learn the trade in the UK. I studied there for three years from 1981 to 1984 and was as proud as anything to emerge with my Diploma in Professional Cookery. If my family gave me my love of food then the lecturers and college definitely fed my addiction. It was one of the happiest times of my life and I am forever grateful to all my lecturers and fellow students who taught me so much that stood me in good stead for later life. I would heartily recommend to anyone thinking of studying catering to go ahead and do it. Even if you never cook professionally after you leave, the skills you learn there will be with you for life.

I can still remember my first day at college as one of the new influx of PCD (Professional Cookery Diploma) students. We were all resplendent in a blizzard of spotless white jackets and blue checked trousers, wearing our new uniforms with pride for the very first time. Our aprons were trailing down to the floor and our starched hats were pointing proudly to the ceiling, we really must have been quite a sight. Over the years our aprons shortened until eventually they were folded into nothing more than miniskirts that just about covered our crutches; while the starched Mohawk-like hats were replaced by neat uniform disposable paper ones. We had finally come of age and were ready to launch our talents onto an unsuspecting world. Looking back it was hard work and frightening at times but honestly worth every second and an experience I would do all over again if I had the chance. It was the days before politically correctness had reared its head so it was a harsh environment for a young teenager.

Saying that the harshness was nothing to what I found when working in a professional kitchen. For a short while I was able to work as a Commis in The Café Royal, Claridge's, Langans Brasserie and Simpson's in the Strand. Working as a Chef in London was fresh, exciting and frightening. Working as a Commis you were on of the lowest ranked employees only one up from the pot wash. You were treated with disdain and generally verbally and sometimes physically abused. Nowadays this sounds horrific but it was pretty standard at the time in the industry. London tended to amplify this somewhat but wherever you worked in the UK it was pretty much the same. This harsh treatment either broke you or made you stronger. The restaurant trade has always been pretty transient so to survive you had to be strong. As a Commis you had to prove yourself before you were let anywhere near a stove. Although I was a qualified chef I spent 6 months peeling and turning potatoes, turning mushrooms and preparing the mise en place ready for service. I can remember many occasions when my julienne of carrot or my bruinoise of vegetables was unceremoniously thrown in the bin because it was not perfect. Through sheer persistence I managed to survive and once I gained the trust of the brigade I was able to watch and learn from the more senior Chefs. As time went on I was allowed to do more and more in the kitchen until I was welcomed as one of the team. I still have very fond memories of the loud punk music played prior to service and the sense of belonging I felt as part of the team. Outside of work we played hard and in London this could be very hard but I had a lot of fun and learnt a great deal.

My experience in London was for a relatively short time but it is an experience that has left its mark on me both personally and professionally. To this day I have a strange affinity with London and simply love the old school restaurants there. My career took me back down to the South Coast and away to sea working front of house for a change before ending up as a Food Buyer procuring high end products for the cruise industry. I have never forgotten my roots and although my time in the front line was brief I still regard it as one of the best experiences of my life. I am indebted to my college lecturers who got me the placements and hopefully I have paid my dues to the industry.

At home I still cook every day and still get that same sense of enjoyment I felt at 16. I genuinely love food and will try just about anything if I feel it is something that I might enjoy. I am frequently asked what is the best meal I have ever eaten. I have been lucky enough after nearly 40 years in the industry to have eaten in a lot of top restaurants and to have had the opportunity to try a myriad of dishes across the world. I have tried many unusual dishes and as a Food Buyer had the opportunity to taste many new and innovative ingredients before they reach the trade.

It therefore can come of something of a surprise when I reveal my favourite meal is not only very simple but from a most unusual food outlet. The location was Hong Kong International Airport around 2005 in restaurant which if my memory serves me correct was situated upstairs on Level 8 of the main concourse above the various check in desks. The restaurant itself is very simple, quite large but very unassuming. It was early morning and I was catching a flight back to the UK. I was not particularly hungry so I was just looking for something light before my flight was ready to board.

I opted to go for a simple Prawn Foo Yung. The picture above is exactly what was presented to me. You cannot see it on the picture as the colours are pretty subdued but the scrambled egg was almost orange in colour. To this day it is the freshest egg I have ever eaten. For such a simple dish the flavours were exceptional and taught me that to have a great dish sometimes simplicity is really the best. As long as you use good quality ingredients less really is more. Sometimes the most complex recipes containing multiple ingredients are no better than a single ingredient prepared well.

Life can quite easily be compared to food Choose your friends and your ingredients carefully and you will find that good friends and good ingredients can give you much happiness. As a Chef I can give you no better advice than love your life and love your food.

[dramabus2-blog]

Comedian John Early Doesn't Love Working With Tahini - Grub Street

“I love Pequeña so much. They have mastered the frozen margarita, so much so that I order one even though I have therapy immediately after.” Photo: Scott Heins

Two years ago, actor and comedian John Early moved from New York to Los Angeles for a television show, and while the project fell through, he stayed and planted roots. Now, when you do see him over on this coast, it’s to tape his TBS show Search Party, in which he plays Elliott, or for various other projects, including next week’s Padma Puts on a Comedy Show at the Bell House, benefiting the Movement Voter Project. Though Early didn’t have as much opportunity to cook this week as he’d like (“I became obsessed with making pasta at a very young age”), he still found time for copious amounts of cold brew, homemade burgers with radicchio buns (“they are divine”), and pizza passing itself off as an hors d’oeuvre. Read all about it in this week’s Grub Street Diet.

Thursday, October 11 I like to start every day with a cold brew and a Propecia. The cold brew comes from Primrose, my neighborhood coffee shop while I’m in town shooting the zero-time Emmy nominated Search Party. It’s these temporary pillars of familiarity that create some much-needed structure amid the formlessness of my bicoastal lifestyle. #theunbearablelightnessofbicoastiality #bicoastalvisibility

For breakfast, my boyfriend and I salt some watermelon — just like my very southern dad does, except he’s never heard of Maldon™. I’m a little too proud of how meager this meal is. It’s no coincidence that this is my very first entry. My daily cold-brew-induced panic begins, and I find myself immediately paralyzed by the performative nature of the whole endeavor. Will I accurately represent myself as the passionate eater that I know myself to be? Will I bring attention to the restaurants and small businesses that truly need it? Is it braggy to talk about my boyfriend? It feels so transparent to include him (“I, too, am loved!”), but dishonest to leave him out!

Did I mention he’s an artist? We take the train into Tribeca and stop by the iconic the Compleat Sculptor to get him some modeling clay for a project. We are starving and a block away from Trader Joe’s, so we pick up some premade salads and a peanut-butter-cookie Lärabar. I can already feel the walls of my hard-earned gourmand identity crumbling around me. I vigorously shake my salad in its plastic container to dress it. I consider lying and saying that we were beckoned into “the most unpretentious red-sauce Italian place by its adorable elderly owner.” The salad explodes in my lap.

For dinner, we drunkenly pick at a tray of falafel toppings with our bare hands at a reception for a friend’s photography show. Damn.

Friday, October 12 I get another cold brew from Primrose and take a Propecia. My boyfriend makes me a smoothie of frozen berries, banana, green apple, and kale for breakfast, and I wonder, Is it 1998? I keep it to myself because the smoothie is truly good, and ultimately I resent diet trends that look down on them.

I pace around the apartment rehearsing what I’m going to say on a very confrontational call that I have to make at the end of the day. I willfully enter into conflict about once every 400 years. A truck could be driving on the wrong side of the road, barreling toward me, and I would not honk. I am so nervous that I forget to eat lunch (so chic), and around 3 p.m. I throw together all that is left of our groceries: a Monsanto apple and banana, and some curried chicken salad that I bought on the previous day’s Trader Joe’s trip but didn’t mention here because of y’all’s relentless judgment.

I make the call. No one dies. I go to Roman’s in Fort Greene with my boyfriend to $elf $oothe. It’s worth the goddamn bill — perfect Martinis, orange wine, gorgeous fava-bean purée, radicchio with anchovy and Parmesan, tortelli with a butter and sage sauce, chicken al diavolo, panna cotta, and chocolate sorbet. I swear to god Keri Russell is eating at the bar just like us. I’ve heard rumors that she lives in this area. It’s definitely not her, but for that split second I feel that life in New York can feel as good as an episode of Felicity.

Saturday, October 13 I am hungover. I pop a Propecia and drag my gay ass to Primrose for a cold brew on my way to shoot a short film by a friend from college. When I get to set, I eat a truly exquisite whole-wheat everything bagel with cream cheese. It helps a lot even though I’m trying to “cut back on grain.”

The catering on set is Frito pie with vegan chili, chicken-salad sliders, and other such church-camp delights. The thematic cohesiveness of the meal is a little oppressive, but I soldier on.

After the shoot, my boyfriend and I go to a play called Slash by Leah Hennessey and Emily Allan (of Zhe Zhe glory) at MX Gallery. The show is astonishing and perfect, and we ride our cultural high to Kiki’s, a Greek restaurant in Chinatown. We have lemony potatoes, smoky eggplant dip, orange-peel sausage, lamb fricassée, and a waitstaff that doesn’t care for my jokes.

Sunday, October 14 I chomp down on a Propecia and head to Primrose where my boyfriend and I collect a free cold brew, having loyally filled our card with the required nine stamps. I playfully tell the cashier that I wish there was a little more ceremony — a siren, confetti, etc. She, too, doesn’t care for my jokes, and my boyfriend generously reassures me on the walk home that she’s probably a Pratt freshman consumed by her new life in Brooklyn.

We get some groceries and make burgers with pepperoncini, avocado, caramelized onions, mayo, Dijon, and radicchio buns (LOL). I laugh out loud, but they are divine. If you can pull off a radicchio leaf without tearing it, it’s very cuplike. And Goddamn it, reader, I swear if you caught me on a different week you’d be shocked by my cooking. I started early. What’s nice about being a gay boy is, before you become cripplingly self-aware about your gayness, you have no shame just following your mom around the kitchen and asking her questions.

In the afternoon, we go to the premiere of Can You Ever Forgive Me, thanks to tickets from queen Dolly Wells, who is in the movie and is characteristically genius in it. While sitting BEHIND JUDGE JUDY AND IN FRONT OF JOEL GREY (!!!!!), we eat popcorn and a couple of bourbon-flavored chocolates. At the after-party, we piece together a free dinner of mediocre mushroom and prosciutto cut-up pizza (“flatbread”) hors d’oeuvres, and marvel at the grace with which Judge Judy interfaces with her adoring public.

Monday, October 15 The usual cold brew cut with Propecia. I have to work today, but only for a couple of hours starting at 4 p.m. My schedule is so easy breezy this season that I wonder if I’m like Valerie Cherish slowly being phased out of Room and Bored. But I’m secretly loving the domesticity. I pick up some groceries and make some lunch for my boyfriend and me. A baby-kale salad with sunflower seeds and a tahini, olive oil, lemon zest, and juice dressing. I’m so bad at “working with” tahini. Why is it always so fucking chunky? I thought I added enough water to smooth it out. Maybe the citrus curdled it? I can feel the ghost of Kate Berlant, my comedy partner and undisputed tahini queen, cackling over my shoulder as I whisk to no avail. The salad is still pretty good — the flavors are all there, gang! — and I serve it with some scrambled eggs and a side of grilled preserved artichokes.

I go to Search Party to take some sort of photo that will be used as a prop in the show. I get to my trailer and am horrified to find no costume, but sweatpants, a hoodie, and big boxers. This can only mean one thing: partial nudity. I react to the horror by eating half of one of those god-awful RXBARs and some Earl Grey tea with almond milk. I imagine this is what Carey Mulligan does when she’s “feeling peckish.” As usual with this show, the partial nudity is truly worth the joke. I am made up like a cherub, my body is oiled, and I pose with a lyre. It’s extremely funny, and I also leave feeling a stronger sense of connection to Anne Geddes, which is frankly something I’ve been after my entire Goddamn life.

For dinner, we order (“We … we! I’m still getting used to saying it!”) some Neapolitan-style pizza — one with soppressata, the other a classic margherita — from a place that truly does not need my help. My boyfriend makes a salad with the leftover radicchio and a vinaigrette with minced pepperoncini and the juice from the jar. It’s really major.

Tuesday, October 16 I should mention that I’ve been trying to make my own cold brew recently to avoid spending so much money and using so much plastic. I can’t figure out the right grind though, so I throw back a Propecia and once again head to Primrose. Love brazenly making choices like these in the face of recent climate science!

I come home, and while absolutely soaring on cold brew, I see that there’s a 50 percent off sale on the Criterion Collection website. A mere two feet away from my boyfriend, I order six titles that I will never watch and a $30 Blu-ray player off of Amazon Prime, and I don’t tell him because I know this behavior is unhinged. This is why cold brew is bad. Once, while drinking one during a meeting, I told an executive that I was the “Robyn of comedy” with zero irony.

I go to Pequeña for a late lunch after my manic purchase. I love Pequeña so much. They have mastered the frozen margarita, so much so that I order one even though I have therapy immediately after. I also get my favorite menu items: the pork burrito and the chicken soup.

Their margarita truly packs a punch, and I put on a great show for my therapist (that’s what therapy is for, right?). I meet the great Nicole Spiezio in Madison Square Park. We share a weed gummy because we are going to see A Simple Favor starring Blake Lively and everyone’s favorite Scrappy Little Nobody, Anna Kendrick (or as my boyfriend calls her “Anna Kendricks”). We eat at Shake Shack, naturally. I eat a double Shack Burger with fries and order my cheese sauce on the side. We get to the theater for the 7:45 showing, and the edible kicks in right as we receive the news that the screening is sold out. Maybe it’s the edible, but the stakes feel so high that I feel like we’re in Argo, which I’ve never seen. We get in a cab and head to the Kips Bay AMC to try to make it in time for the 7:55 showing, but there is only one seat left. I beg the woman at the box office, “Is there anything you can do?” She looks at me like I’m crazy — obviously, there is nothing she can do. We are stuck in Kips Bay, high as hell, but still wanting to hang. We are beckoned into the most unpretentious Mexican place by its adorable elderly owner. Everyone in the restaurant seems to be on straight Tinder dates that aren’t going well. I drink a tequila on the rocks.

I go back home and eat frozen raspberries while relaying this story to my boyfriend. It does not land.

See All

Source: http://www.grubstreet.com/2018/10/comedian-john-early-grub-street-diet.html

[letterstokyra]

The story of

Three Eggs

Once upon a time, there were 3 eggs who lived on a shelf in the pantry at Mbulwa. They actually were in a family of 60 eggs (how many dozen us that Kyra?) but all the other eggs had been used up and they were the last three in the pantry. Chef David had cooked all the other eggs and the guests had thoroughly enjoyed breakfasts of bacon and egg, flapjacks with butter and syrup and frothy coffee.

Egg 1 always wanted to be a fried egg, egg 2 always wanted to be an omelet and egg 3 always wanted to be scrambled.

One day chef David came into the pantry and reached for egg 1.

"Oooh it's my turn to be a scrummy breakfast for a guest. I'm so excited but I'm also so scared that I won't be a fried egg" and he started shaking and crying. He gasped as he saw chef take him to a pot of boiling water 💦 and started to cry because he was also afraid that the boiling water would hurt him. But as chef gently lowered him into the boiling water, he realised that his shell was protecting him from the heat and he actually enjoyed the bubbly water because it made him feel warm and comfortable inside. "Maybe being a boiled egg is not so bad" he thought as he bounced around happily in the bubbles and steam. Soon chef took him out the water and placed him in the most ornate egg cup. It was royal blue with delicate roses of pink. He felt so handsome! Suddenly his dream of being a fried egg was not so important and he decided to be the best boiled egg that he could be. He heard whistling and footsteps and saw the guest approach the breakfast table rubbing his tummy "mmm this boiled egg looks delicious" and he cracked the shell open and began to eat egg 1. "Deliciously scrumptious!" he exclaimed when he had finished. Lucy took the plates away and he went off to work a very contented man.

It felt so good to make somebody else happy and egg 1 realised it wasn't all about him but rather more about what chef wanted to do with him and also more about how much he was enjoyed by the guest.

Next day chef reached for egg 2. "It's my turn hooray eggy egg hip hooradeeggydaeggy!" he squeeled in delight. But as chef took him off the shelf, he started to worry about what was going to become of him. Sudenly he was sad and it showed as he waved goodbye to egg 3 and shouted out "I hope and pray I will be an omelet or I would have lived for nothing" and he frowned with a very worried look on his face.

He saw Cindy cutting bread and Elsie pouring milk into a bowl and suddenly, as he smelt butter heating in a pan, his fears came true.... he realised that he was doomed to be French Toast!!! This was not in keeping with his dream to be an omelet 😭In his unhappiness and disgruntled state, he shouted ugly things to the milk as his shell was cracked open and felt himself falling into the white milk. "It's all your fault milk!" But deep down inside his yellow yolk he knew it was not the milks fault. This was his destiny. French toast!! He started to feel all shook up as chef whisked him together with the milk and let out a sneeze as a dash of salt and pepper was added. Suddenly something smashed into him... A slice of brown bread!

Owww!" he yelped as chef swished the bread around in the egg and milk and then flipped the bread and half of the egg and milk into hot butter. He was always scared of the hot butter but then he realised the bread actually took most of the heat and he didn't hurt at all. Suddenly a dash of orange juice fell on him and as he stuck out his tongue, started to understand that chef knew what he was doing and felt honoured to be in the process of being made into delicious orange french toast. Immediately he forgot all about his dream of being an omelet and decided to be the best french toast that he could be. Chef placed him alongside crispy bacon and grated cheese and maple syrup on a shiny white plate with parsley garnish and he watched wide eyed as the guest grabbed his knife and fork hungrily and soon he was eaten all up. "Just exactly what I needed Chef! Such delicious orange french toast. Thank you!" and the guest left for work.

The next day chef went into the kitchen and reached for egg 3. Egg 3 was very excited because Chef had not made scrambled egg yet so he was certain he would be scrambled. He sang a song as chef carried him to the kitchen "a scrambled I will be, a scrambled I will be, hey ho the eggyo, a scrambled I will be". Suddenly he felt a crack on his tummy and he was opened up and chef was taking his yolk. "Eina!" he whimpered as he saw his white going under a beater and became double the size and white and frothy! Suddenly a fork started hammering him around in a tea cup and he had fresh herbs thrown all over him. "Are you still there White?" he called out quite shaken. "I am yellow but I'm all frothed up. What will our fate be?" Before they could say another word, chef poured yellow back into white and folded them gently together which felt so comforting.

Then before he could say "eggy is my uncle" he felt a wonderful warm feeling and all of a sudden everything started to make sense. He hid inside white so that the pan was not too hot and he heard white laughing as the bubbly buttter tickled his froth. He had always been a ticklish egg. Before long he felt cheese and bits of bacon and mushroom layered on his belly and just as it started to melt and get ticklish, chef flipped him over and folded him over himself and placed him on the most beautiful red checkered breakfast plate. He was extremely proud of how he had turned out and was grateful that chef had made him into something so good looking. While he was still admiring himself, a gueat started eating him and by the "mmmm mmm" and "yummy yum" sounds, he knew that he was being appreciated. He had forgotten all about being scrambled and was enjoying being the best omelet that he could be. "Wonderful omelet Chef! The best I've ever tasted" the guest bellowed out as he left for work.

There were no more eggs on the shelf but egg 1, 2 and 3 had learned a powerful lesson.

In a good chefs hands, we can relax knowing that if we are willing to be used by the chef and if we are willing to be the best that we can be, we will be very happy and very successful because its not all about me but more about what we are needed to be. ☺️

The End

[st-riley-the-brave]

Ghost+Grave 11: The Morning After…

[One-shot. In which Riley kicks it up for breakfast for Egon… the Scottish way! Follow-up to G+G 10.

For @realghostbusteregonspengler 🌟❤]

God only knew how long the two stayed in bed. All that Riley knew however, was that for one, Egon sure had a way with her. And two, the scar on the back of her neck would not be feeling the same after all that! Eventually though… food would not be a bad idea and so while Egon was still lost in love-drunk slumber, Riley was finally able to escape his arms for a quick shower, and a quick stop to Stormy Oaks… for all the right reasons.

First was a stop to Lady Catherine’s orphanage to finally pick up a special treasure: Mother’s cookbook. Secondly, to Sean McEnrow, the town butcher, for some Scottish-style bacon. Surprised as to the reason why the Brave One made a visit, he also helped in getting her the rest of what she needed. Once Riley got everything together, she was back in the kitchen…

“Mumma” she whispered as she began preparing the porridge, “I hope t'God I do y'proud.”

Egon wiggled his nose, smelling food being prepared. Blinking his eyes open, he noticed that Riley was not in bed… but he could still feel her. And that wasn’t a bad thing.

…on the other hand, the scratches on his back from her, were definitely not a bad thing either!

Slowly he got up, got out of bed, and got dressed. Once in the kitchen, he saw the table already fixed with a bowl of yogurt topped with muesli and raspberries, a kettle of hot tea, and a pitcher of orange juice. Riley placed a plate of homemade oatcakes and raspberry jam, when she turned to see Egon. “Good morning, love” she greeted with a grin. “Hungry?”

“R-Riley” Egon whispered in awe. She looked adorable in his shirt and shorts. And making breakfast. “I mean–yes–I mean… good morning, my love” he then replied, smiling.

“Porridge and toast will be ready in a moment” she said as Egon sat down to eat the yogurt and oatcakes. “I’ll be joining you in trite.”

“Well this is certainly a different kind of breakfast” Egon remarked with a smile after taking a nibble of oatcake. “And this is delicious!!”

“I’m glad y'like it” she replied, smiling lovingly as she finished the porridge and toast, and set them on the table. “Welcome to a traditional Scottish breakfast.”

“Oh really?” Egon asked, looking up at her.

“Yep” she replied with a grin. “Now, how’d y'like your egg?”

Egon thought for a moment. “Scrambled, please!” he then answered.

“Y'got it, love!” she said, before getting to work broiling a tomato sliced in half in the oven. Egon watched as she took out a tray of tattie–potato–scones from the oven and placed that on the counter, then went to scramble an egg on a pan. While that was going, she cooked in another pan a couple of slices of Scottish-style bacon. Once those and the eggs were done, they were placed on a plate and Riley used that same pan to sautée some mushrooms.

Egon meanwhile had finished the yogurt, and started on the porridge and toast. And before he knew it, Riley placed a full hot plate before him: half a tomato, broiled and topped with cheese. A tattie scone, a couple of slices of bacon, the scrambled egg, and some sautéed mushrooms. The Gravekeeper smiled as he was stunned at all the food that was prepared, as she herself prepared an egg sunny side up, and placed that on her plate with the tomato, scone, bacon and mushrooms.

“…that, is a lot of food, my dear” the Ghostbuster remarked as she sat down across from him at the table. “But it’s all sorts of delicious!”

“Thank you, darling” she replied with a smile as she started on her toast and porridge. “This is actually the first time I’ve made a traditional breakfast. And that’s not the whole of it.” She took a nibble of bacon before adding, “I am not very fond of black pudding t'be honest.”

Egon chuckled, finishing the porridge and starting on the hot plate. “Well still, it’s all delicious, Riley. I’m humbled… and honored. My compliments to whoever gave you the recipe.”

Riley looked up at him, smiling still as she finished the porridge and toast. “It’s actually from m'Mother’s cookbook.” The smile turned into a grin. “And she’d be proud o'me for doin’ this.”

“I’m certainly proud of you for making the effort” Egon said, pouring her a cup of hot tea. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you busily cooking food. I mean I remember the time you made me some bridies with vegetables but I’ve never seen you actually in action.”

“Thank you” she said as he poured the tea. “And yeah… I mean, you’re the only person I’ve actually cooked for, Egon…”

“…ah, right” he replied softly, “l forgot you live alone and…“

"I mean, I’ve got the animals and all but, it’s… something I’ve gotten used to” she answered inbetween bites of cheese tomato on toast. “But I finally got around to getting Mumma’s cookbook because I felt that it was time at last to pick up another piece of my younger years. Especially since I now have someone to cook for, and mayhaps teach a little lesson or two.” She gave him a wink.

Egon smiled lovingly as they continued eating their breakfast. “I am both humbled and honored, my love” he said as he got up and went to sit next to her and finish his breakfast. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome” she replied, smiling at him. “Thank you.”

He tilted his head curiously. “For…?”

“For showing me that it’s okay to feel” she said quietly.

Egon had to fight back a tear or two at the response, and given all she had endured in the past before him, it was almost no wonder. The two finished their breakfast and sat in comfortable silence for a little while. Egon then gave Riley a knowing smile. “How’s the back of your neck?” he asked.

“Still wonderfully sore” Riley replied with a smirk. “How’s your shoulder?”

“Well… let’s just say I’ll be feeling those for a good while” he answered, chuckling as he leaned over to kiss her cheek.

Riley chuckled as well. “I’m sure we both will, darling” she replied as he kissed her. She then rested her head on his shoulder as he wrapped an arm around her, and the two enjoyed the comfortable silence that only a breakfast together could bring…