A vegetable love.
I intended making these fingerling potatoes from the Union Square Farmers' Market a supper on their own, with a side of cauliflower, gratinated. Once I had just-cooked the cauliflower though, and it was draining, it smelled so good that I started to eat it with nothing on or near it, straight from the colander, steaming. End of cauliflower (it was a very SMALL one).
Then the potatoes, cut in half, into the All Clad with lid, some lardons from a slab of Stinky's New York bacon, and some sage from the terrace, and left that lot alone, shaking the pan every now and then, for about half an hour till done. Very good with a poached egg on top, a glass of Shiraz and leaves from Trader Joe's (I've discovered my niche there: organic frisee, mache and wild arugula leaves - all very exciting; and organic butter and milk and half and half for the cat, which are several cents less than elsewhere. And that is all. Its linoleum expanse and politically jovial cashiers give me the jitters).
Below: alone and palely loitering? I love poached eggs. But something is missing. Pepper. For two straight days this house was pepperless. Panic stations. And I tried to pull a Jennifer Hess with this egg, but she has me beat when it comes to capturing the essence of a perfectly poached hen present.