Why Cows Need Names by Randy James

Author:Randy James
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: The Kent State University Press

13

Horsemeat for Breakfast

It’s about six o’clock and I’m at home working on breakfast. I am totally focused on what is usually my favorite meal of the day, and my wife, Barb, has learned not to interfere. She calls me the “Breakfast Maestro” and will join me with her cold bowl of drippy, crunchy, highly processed cereal when I’m just about ready to eat.

It is not a shaky day so I go to work on a whole symphony of flavors. This morning the refrigerator has yielded one of my favorites: leftover mashed potatoes. I scoop two tablespoons into a Pyrex custard cup and pop it in the microwave for 50 seconds. Next I spin around to complete the petite green salad I have already started. Just some leaf lettuce, a little cucumber, some onion, a single cherry tomato (all from our garden), balsamic vinegar, a wonderful olive oil, cracked pepper, and a little salt, topped off with a couple of pieces of mixed dried fruit and just a few small strips from a slice of prosciutto.

The salad’s done. A slice of local artisan bread is starting to brown in the toaster, and the microwave beeps. I pull out the hot mashed potatoes, grab another clean custard cup out of the cupboard, put a little water in the bottom of the cup, and pop it into the microwave. While it’s heating, I grab an egg (bought yesterday from Mose Barkman) out of the refrigerator and pour steaming water into the teapot with a bag of Earl Grey. The second custard cup is boiling so I crack in the egg and put it back into the microwave to poach for about 50 seconds. Pour some orange juice and get out a jar of local honey for the tea. The microwave and toaster go off at almost the same second. Now all I need to do is flip the egg in the water to finish cooking it, drain it, dump it over the mashed potatoes, grind some black pepper and salt over the egg, butter the toast, add two dried olives to the plate, and—ahh—my little breakfast is ready.

As if by magic, Barb has appeared across the table with her bowl of cold milk, fruit, and cereal. I am perennially amazed that she can eat that stuff. It must be said, however, that she looks decidedly less frazzled than I feel as she serenely crunches away.

As is our custom over breakfast, we are talking and listening to the news on NPR. There’s a story on the ongoing political insecurity and terrible loss of both American soldiers and Iraqi civilians. Really not much to say here. We’ve been over this sad ground for far, far too many mornings. Mostly we just shake our heads as our country numbly “stays the course.”

There are a couple more stories about the economy, the deficit, and homeland security. Then an interesting, although very short, story on horsemeat dribbles out of the speakers. It seems the U.S. House of Representatives has passed a bill banning the slaughter of horses for human consumption.

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