Late Night Scribblings: Elevenses

I think that hobbits everywhere would agree with me in saying that elevenses are just as acceptable in the evening hours as they are in the morning.

That being said, I've been feeling rather hobbitish lately, so when First Brother Alex stood up and stretched--after our movie was over and the youngers had slipped off to bed--and announced that he could really go for some french toast or maybe just scrambled eggs, I looked up at him from Lucy Maud* and told him I'd make some.

Pre-Bryan Sarah would not have even thought of making french toast at 11 p.m., but I am no-longer that Sarah. Three years of last minute, just-before-curfew fast food runs, all-nighters spent with a bowl of ramen in the hall, and late-night soul talks over mac'n'cheese have taught me that late-night food will sometimes be the best you'll ever eat... through probably more for the events they accompany rather than the nourishment.

So, in my best burglar-hobbit manner, (I'll have you know, best beloved, that I'm an expert at quiet goings and doings) I gather frying pan, eggs, bread, and that serving platter with the lip that is just the right dimensions for not only beating eggs, but sopping bread. A splash of half-n-half, a sprinkling of cinnamon, and zero set-off fire alarms later, there's two golden stacks of french toast, one for each of us, which we proceeded to scarf down in contented silence.

Random fact you should know about me: Whenever I eat pancakes, waffles, or french toast--you know, those flat breakfast-y foods that are usually presented in a stacked manner--I always eat the bottom one first, kind of cutting out from underneath the top layers till its all gone, then I proceed with the next one up until I reach the top. I don't know why I do this or when I started, but for as long as I can remember, that's how it's been.

I've no grand French Toast Philosophy for you tonight; I feel that I've philosophized too much of late (even if I have kept most of it to myself). These are just the ordinary scribblings of a mad-woman ("We're all mad here...") who's up late, enjoying ordinary things like french toast, good music, the sound of a clacking keyboard, and the emptiness of a quiet house. I thrive in the wee sma's, when there's no-one but me and my imagination.

yours in late nights and elevenses,

*My little blue armchair. Yes, she's named after L.M. Montgomery... yes, I named my armchair.

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