A New Joy

On my days off, I like to get started late.
I wake up around the normal time, lay in bed and read or pet the sleeping lion that lives with me.
I venture downstairs, fire up the laptop, and turn on The Food Network.
Usually, Ina Garten.
Because I'm cool like that.
As someone who has lived on a restricted diet for the last several years of their life due to various forays into vegetarianism, veganism, ambitions of weight-loss, and now, gluten-free (not a choice, merely necessity), I like to play a little game with the shows I watch. It involves trying to modify recipes in my head, to a point where I can consume them based on the rules of my current food-intake requirements.
Sometimes, it works out.
Sometimes, it can't be done.
Either way, it always fun and I'm always inspired and usually hungry.

Today was one such day.
Ina, Peanut, and I were hanging on the couch while I checked my e-mail and did other important things (like read my newsfeed on Facebook).

There I was, bemoaning the fact that we had nothing remotely gluten-free in the house (I need to go shopping) and I was hungry.
Ina's recipes tend to have that effect on me.
Except I didn't want to bust out all my mad cooking skills this early in the morning (okay... it was noon, but whatever). I kind of needed something that was easy.
So, let's recap:
Easy.
Delicious.
All ingredients present in the household.
Gluten-free.
Right.

Then, I looked up and Ina was making eggs.

Holy crap, I forgot about eggs.

Maybe I didn't really forget about them.
But in my defense I didn't eat them for a long time, due to the veganess.

Okay.
Eggs.
I can do that.

And I did.
They were good.
Of course I ate them with hot sauce.
My Dad insists.
Funny story: when Molly and I lived in England, I carried a bottle of Tabasco in my purse with me wherever we went. The Brits aren't particularly famous for their food.
You can ask her. I'm sure the image is burned into her brain.
She probably has nightmares of the embarrassment I caused her.

Ina says they are best when cooked over a low, slow heat.
Generally I am not that patient.
However when Ina tells me to do something, I do it.
And she was right.
Apparently, the French cook their scrambled eggs in a double-boiler.
That would probably be super-delish, but I think I'll save that for a less desperate time.
To my credit, I think I went pretty slow. Or slower that usual.
I'm not really sure.

Either way, Ina saved the day.
As usual.