Dinner with MFK Fisher

El Caballero quotes MFK Fisher like other people quote Princess Bride. It doesn't even have to be a Godly hour for a Fisher quote to burble towards the surface of the conversation. On early Monday morning eggs-- "a thoroughly hard boiled egg is indigestible."

I took the day off today. I tried to be frugal. Eschewed Trader Joe's, tea and chocolate. Sat for hours on the floor of my room mending clothes and pondering the Tailor of Gloucester and the sartorius muscle. I allowed myself a trip to the library (but only enough books to fill my purse) to pick up more Borges and to find out, finally, what the fuss over MFK Fisher was.

Then it was dinner time. I was a little horror-sticken, recalling the contents of a larder that wasn't quite empty enough for a trip to the store, nor ample enough for a full repast.

I dug around, and when the food was hot, I sat down to it, and tackled the three introductions to The Art of Eating.

Camille's Bachelorette Lonely Dinner Menu

-Leftover Red Leaf Lettuce (with borrowed dressing) (still a little damp from washing)
-Fried Egg and Cheese Sandwich with Vital Vittles Bread from the Grocery Outlet.
I share the horror of a fully cooked yolk, so when I cut the sandwich in half, a warm yellow ooze baptized the plate. The cheese, of course, imported white cheddar (what else is there?).
-a bottle of Wolaver's Brown Ale, which satisfied my craving for chocolate.

I read about writing about eating while eating. The effusive and wordy introductions mostly served to whet my curiosity about this prolific gourmand. As I read about wartime shortages, the ugly sandwich started to glow slightly. "This isn't such a pathetic dinner," I thought to myself, "its actually quite nice. The eggs are cooked to runny-yolk, solid white perfection, and the dash of salt and pepper rounds the flavors. Even the old lettuce is still green and crispy."

Dessert
-two small fuji apples, one riddled with bruises, the other clean.
-a heel of Humbolt Fog-- a fine, creamy blueish cheese, with a layer of scrummy white goo right under the rind.

I crunched on a heavenly combination of crunchy fresh apple and gooey, aged cheese. The perfumed apple juice jousted with the cheese mold for sensory domination as I read about Greek banquets and Egyptian table manners, "and heard, from the north, the sound of blond men tearing the sinews of raw meat with their teeth."