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Sunday Breakfast



It is possible I talk too much about food. Probably caused by my thinking too much about food. And perhaps triggered by my actually eating too much food. And yet....

This morning was a busy one - the dogs got me up early, and while I made a gallant effort to get back in bed, it just wasn't happening. Morning chores, cleaned out stalls, cleaned out the sheep pen, trimmed Jo's mane, did some weed eating, pummeled mercilessly by bees (ow....just ow, ow, ow), sanded a chair destined for the little cabin, and converted some scrap wood to door stops.

(Um....Kate? where is the food in this story?)

I am not really a breakfast fan, but yesterday when I was cleaning the freezer I found some linguica. Those of you in the south probably don't know what linguica is; y'all are way to focused on Andouille and Chorizo, and in fact, I have never found it available for sale here. But living in San Leandro for many years, we eat linguica, which is a flavorful Portuguese sausage. It is one of my few remaining "bad" meats. I know it is made with commercial pork, and I have tried to make it myself, but there is no substitute for Amarals. I order a few pounds a year.

Anyway, as I was nursing my bee stings, I remembered the linguica and did a little linguica dance, and cooked up some linguica and eggs for breakfast. Kind of makes me wish every morning was Sunday morning (except for the bee stings). Also, peonies on the table make everything special.

#Foods

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