The telephone rings and my mother happens to be nearby. “Are you friends with my son?” she asks the caller. “Are you sure? Because if you were you would know he doesn’t wake up until noon.”
This is not only not entirely factual, it is also yesterday’s news. Sister Anthony, our high-school principal, once called me into her office for flunking Christian Doctrine. “You better have a good explanation,” she had said. And I did: Christian Doctrine was the first subject of the day and I usually slept through it. That was if I could be roused to make it to school in time. But I graduated, didn’t I? That says something.
Matters took a turn for the worse in college. Away from my mother’s watchful gaze, I missed a lot of early-morning classes — for which the ruthlessly unequivocal La Sallian system gave me a pair of fat zeroes in enough quantity to merit a suspension (FYI, the passing grade was 1.0, with three maximum allowed absences).
Now you see why my mother is very prickly about the subject. To hear her talk, you would think that the world’s woes would go away if only I woke up early. Or at least hers would. “Him?” she says to anyone who would care to listen. “Oh, let’s not even go there.” And then she does. I’m used to it. It’s true enough, anyway.
Except when it clearly isn’t. Like now, for example. I am sitting right across from her — had been since before the call came. “Shut up and give me that phone,” I say.
So she is not above that. Guess what? I would be very disappointed if she were. While I’m not comfortable with my own mother discussing my inadequacies over the telephone with (possible) strangers, I also have to acknowledge that my life is boring enough as it is. Not that that’s a bad thing. It is what it is — just as mornings are mornings no matter how big a to-do others make it out to be. If you ask me, it is not much different from the rest of the day, except earlier.
Thank heavens (and Ma) for sarcasm. Most days it’s all I have to get me through to the afternoon.
Nuked Egg
Waking up early whets my appetite. Good thing we have this microwave egg poacher (as seen here) that turns out perfect eggs in under a minute. If you have concerns about cooking by microwave, this is not for you. But cooking in plastic should, as a rule, be avoided — unless you’re lazy, like me. Enter my friend Daphne with a suggestion: use a microwaveable glass bowl! You’ll have to fiddle with cooking times depending on the unit, but you will get there by, say, your fourth or fifth egg.
- Brush inside of microwaveable bowl with a light coating of oil.¹
- Break egg into bowl. (If cooking more than one, use one to a bowl.) Egg(s) must be at room temperature as this affects cooking time.
- With a toothpick (or a similar sharp-pointed implement), prick the middle of the egg yolk just a tad; don’t let it go all the way through.²
- Set your microwave to a notch below the highest level and cook for 25-30 seconds (for a runny yolk; about five seconds more if you prefer it firm. You may need to adjust the cooking time depending on your oven).
- Remove bowl from oven and season egg with salt and pepper. Serve hot.
¹ The original suggestion was to use water, but the high temperature put the water to a brisk boil, leaving the egg pockmarked and jagged around the edges. I switched to oil-only and got good results on the first try, so I stuck with that. «
² Per the poacher manual. I have no idea what this step accomplishes (or prevents, for that matter), but it takes no time at all, so here it is. «
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