I have a crush on the cheese guy at Whole Foods. This is not altogether surprising, given that his job is to provide people with delicious cheese, and he has a beard, and he was wearing a plaid shirt, and he talked dairy with me a little bit flirtatiously (and how I loooove talkin’ dairy). I went in looking for a burrata, but it was $11, so I left with some farmer’s cheese and a red face because attractive men give me hives, awesome. I also bought 2 types of vinegar and 9 yogurts. Yes, nine. Yes, I live by myself. Take a gander in my fridge at this very moment and you’ll find: cheese, butter, 2 bottles of beer, mustard, pickles, eggs, and 7 yogurts (i know i said i bought 9, but it was just a pretty yogurty day, ok?). This is an upgrade from the first week I moved in when my fridge consisted of beer, mustard, and sausages. Apparently moving into my own place gave me license to turn into a frat guy. Yo, anyone up for some flip cup later, bras?
This egg sandwich was inspired by this one, mostly the tomato jam part, which actually turned more into roasted tomatoes that I squashed onto the cheese. I bought Newman’s Own balsamic vinegar and I’m a little bit disappointed in it, which means I should probably stop letting attractive men dictate my purchases (see: Paul Newman; also, that cheese guy).
Not that I’m complaining about the farmer’s cheese, it was pretty lovely. I did miss the burrata, but that’s to be expected. It’s hard to get excited about 200 threadcount sheets when you know 1000 threadcount sheets exist (wait, do they? i still buy my linens at ikea…).
Got the tomatoes and basil from the farmers market, along with 10 LBS OF STONEFRUIT because the farmer upsold me on it. He didn’t even have to try. I came to the register with 2.5 lbs of peaches and he was like, you know, we’re having a special, if you buy 10 lbs…and before he could finish I had piled 12 other assorted stonefruits onto his scale. “That was easy,” he said. And I almost said “that’s what he said,” but I didn’t, because occasionally I act like a normal human. OCCASIONALLY.
This bacon traveled with me from my last apt. It had been frozen and I took great care to make sure it made it to my new place. Priorities, ladies. Bacon first, then my plant, Skeeter, then all that other shit I own.
So right now I am sitting in my apt and my fire alarm is going off. Forever. Oh my god!!! I don’t know how to turn it off!!! I am upset at my inability to shut it off. I hate it. I want it to die. Why is it doing this to me? It just keeps saying “testing” and then various other TOO LOUD THINGS AND BEEPING AND OH GOD WHY. IT IS SAYING THERE IS CARBON MONOXIDE IN MY BASEMENT. How does it even know?! Then it says carbon monoxide reading: zero ppm. ALL THESE MIXED SIGNALS, FIRE ALARM.
Ok, so now I’ve pushed my dresser underneath my fire alarm. I am waiting for that son of a bitch to go off again and it is SILENT. GO OFF. I PUSHED THIS THING ALL THE WAY OVER HERE SO I COULD BE POISED TO PRESS ANY AND ALL BUTTONS ON YOU. And now? Nothing? No? Not even a little bleep? I swear to god, fire alarm. If you wake me tonight it’ll be a cold and deadly shoe to your face. TO YOUR FACE, FIRE ALARM. DO WE UNDERSTAND EACH OTHER?!? I am not leaving this dresser until you go off again. You went of 5 times. Why did you stop?! THIS IS ENTIRELY PERPLEXING. I DON’T ENJOY THIS.
Soo. As I sit here atop my dresser (i am seriously atop my dresser at this very moment), let’s just finish this post so we can all sleep/not sleep tonight. In regards to this sandwich, you’ll need:
Some tasty-ass bread (mine was Acme pain au levain)
an egg or two
cherry tomatoes, basil, salt, pepper, and balsamic (cut tomatoes in half, chop basil, combine all ingredients in a good ratio and roast in a 400 degree oven for 20ish minutes)
fresh cheese (farmer’s cheese’ll do, but if you’re a fancy person, you could stand to get some burrata)
salt & pepper
You can figure it out. I’m sorry, I have much louder things to deal with right now. And by louder I mean MORE SILENT NOW THAT I HAVE THE CAPABILITY TO TURN YOU OFF, YOU SON OF A BITCH FIRE ALARM.