Every girl should know how to do a lazy weekend brunch. There are just those some certain times when you have a guest who unexpectedly turns into an *ahem* overnight guest who subsequently turns into a weekend guest. On Saturday morning, if you throw a box of stale Special K and a half empty carton of expired milk on the counter, he probably won’t come back as a weekend guest again. If forcing premature evacuation was the plan from the get-go, well, I’m not saying anything about your trashy lifestyle.
I’m just saying.
I’m just saying that it doesn’t hurt to maintain an arsenal of brunch recipes for those some certain times, particularly since brunch foods have the highest ROI – that’s “return on investment” if you have your MBA, and “return on investment” if we’re talking about impressing that overnight guest with something that only you need to know is fairly simple. Obscenely creamy scrambled eggs. Omelet overflowing with cheese. French toast. Even a plate of nachos made “brunch” with a couple of poached eggs running their sunny yolks all over a pile of chips is better than Pop Tarts you have to serve “raw” because the toaster is broken.
Every girl should know how to do brunch, and if she’s good, she should know how to do waffles because, with the exception of say, Eggs Florentine and Quiche made ultra-feminine with bacon, sausage, three kinds of cheese and jalapeño, waffles are the most awe-inspiring dish on the brunch menu. That waffles are the crowning achievement of almostalliterative tetrabalance – tendercrisp texture, toasted sweet taste – alone is enough to stir a weekend guest. However, it’s the unique requirement of their own specialized equipment to deliver geometric perfection of the culinary kind that will make shut eyes wide.
Every girl should have a waffle iron.
Every girl should know how to do brunch, and if she’s good, she will have a waffle iron. But if she’s really good, if you’re really good, if you’re just that good, you’ll know ho to do waffles for a lazy weekend brunch. Once you realize that “ho” isn’t a typo, you won’t need a waffle iron.
No, not a waffle iron; every girl should have a waffle maker.
Mine was standing on the other side of the counter island bedheaded in baby blue pajama bottoms, white t-shirt, and what made me blush as I watched, glasses. It had been so long, I had forgotten how a boy in glasses can make me glow.
I don’t think I need a waffle iron just yet.
** a year ago today, “foodie” is a badge of shame **
** two years ago today, insurgent histamines launched a full allergy attack **