Sunday Mornings

I love Sunday mornings.  For starters, they are pretty difficult to mess up; the house is either filled with warm sunlight or cloaked with a peaceful shadow with clouds full to bursting with rain.  Everything is quiet and calm on a Sunday morning.  There is no reason to rush, all errands have already been done the day before.  The only thing that even gets me out of bed is the prospect of hot milky tea and a nice rumamge through the ice box for a hopeful breakfast.

There is absolutely no telling what will be in there.  Most certainly there will be left overs of some sort.  Bits and peices of the past week's meals scattered all throughout in varrying quantities.  There are so many options!  I always have eggs, so a fluffy omelette is always an option but sometimes I really don't want a fuss around.  Omelettes are more of a Saturday meal anyway.  There is always something that can be heaped on a pile of toast, though, or eaten straight from the container.

And, sometimes, when I am lucky, there is some left over romesco sauce.  Nevermind that I don't have any potatoes left because there is that ever present tub of cottage cheese.  I don't even know how I thought to put these two together, but I'll tell you what:  I'll never forget that I did.  Nor will I forget to repeat it everytime that I have some of this smokey, spicy, gritty-in-the-good-way paste.