Day 13 of the post-France quarantine. One day to go.
Since Annabelle has returned from the germy Old World she's been confined to her bedroom, (and bathroom) which means me fixing her meals and leaving plates of food at her door like I'm her jailer. So one of my daily quarantine routines has been making her breakfast.
Every morning Annabelle's order is the same: two eggs over easy, a piece of buttered toast, a glob of jam and a piece of whatever special baked item we have on hand. When the quarantine started, shortly after St. Patrick's day, it was Irish Soda bread I'd picked up on one of my last outings to the grocery store, and then when we ran out of that I made scones. She also drinks a cup of Irish Breakfast tea.
It's a simple breakfast but it requires some effort to get the eggs, toast and tea ready at the same time, and I have found myself enjoying the challenge of getting the timing just right. It's become a ritual I've found oddly comforting.
First, get out the breads. Put the scone on a small plate. Put the sliced bread in the toaster, but don't turn the toaster on yet.
Get out the butter, slice off a thin amount --must ration---and heat it in the pan. Add two eggs to the butter in the pan, salt and pepper them.
While the eggs are cooking, get out the jam and put it into a small dish. Fetch a tea bag and put it in the mug and start heating the tea kettle. Add a fork to the plate and a small teaspoon to the teacup.
After a few minutes, flip the eggs, and turn down the heat slightly. Push down the toaster lever and start toasting the bread, being sure to keep an eye so it doesn't burn. Bread is a precious commodity and hard to come by, so I have to get it right the first time.
Take the eggs out of the pan and slide them onto a plate. By now the tea kettle should be whistling. Pour water over the tea bag and let steep.
Retrieve bread from the toaster, butter it, and place on small plate with scone. Place the dish of jam and butter knife onto the big plate with the eggs. Take plates to daughter's room and leave it outside.
Remote the teabag from the tea and take tea to daughter's room as well. Stand guard against Cheri, who is watching the delivery of food with keen interest, and has been ever since the morning Annabelle was too slow to retrieve her food and Cheri walked over and grabbed the eggs right off her plate and swallowed them.
I follow these steps with more deliberation and focus than is really called for, but as I said, I enjoy it. I think it's because it gives me a momentary feeling of control and order, when the outside world is spinning out of control.
Starting Wednesday morning, Annabelle will be sprung free from her cell, will have full rein of the house, and can make her own breakfast. I'm glad, of course! But I may have to find a new morning ritual.
