Sunday breakfast time

Slow and easy. That's how I like my Sundays. The whirlwind of the working week spills over into Saturday, which is spent doing, seeing, learning, absorbing. But Sundays should be slow. I keep my bedroom as dark as possible, but as the flicker of sunlight pushes through the blackout blind and flits across my face, I stretch and stir. But Sundays are meant to be slow, so no leaping out of bed and into the shower. Instead, Frank and I lie and chat in lazy, muted tones. Eventually pulling ourselves from the warmth of our nest of duvets, we stagger blearily downstairs in tartan pyjamas. The kettle whistles, Frank flicks through a magazine. Yellow tulips bow their heads towards the morning sunlight. I pop my head round the sitting room door, "eggs?" Frank nods. I take my time on Sundays, lifting the ingredients from the fridge with precision.

These days I'm trying to avoid bread, so today's menu is homemade hash browns with scrambled egg and a dollop of ruby-coloured ketchup. I grate potato and courgette and squidge the mixture together in my hands, squeezing out the water. I haven't bothered to peel the potatoes. It's Sunday, so who cares? I mix a little beaten egg into the mixture, a good grind of salt and pepper. The heat clicks on and a drizzle of olive oil hits the pan. I spoon a dollop of the mixture into the pan and flatten it down with a spatula. It sizzles for a few minutes. It goes golden and crispy. I flip it over and cook the other side. Another dousing of salt and pepper in the leftover egg, a splash of milk and whisk. I spoon the hash browns onto a plate, add a knob of butter to the pan and pour in the egg mixture. In a couple of seconds it'll be golden perfection. I pour the steaming egg onto the plates and bring them unceremoniously into the sitting room. Frank applauds. The clatter of cutlery, the scrape of fork on plate. We sip hot tea and chew on mouthfuls of crispy potato and buttery scrambled egg.

We discuss our day. A bike ride? A trip to the farmer's market? A pile of washing up lies in the sink. It can wait until later. After all, it's Sunday.





Liked what you read today? Then why not subscribe? Just click the button: