Before I was obsessed with Dynaco amplifiers I was obsessed with omelettes

When I was younger and less depressed I would tend to fixate random things over the winter and devote inordinate amounts of energy in useless enterprises.
Upon reflection, nothing has really changed.
Actually, I've been obsessed with no-till planting for the past eight years and that seems to be passing. The last couple years I've been thinking about Legos as it is a passion I share with my daughter.
But, I digress...
It was something like a decade ago that I read the book, "On the Tip of My Tongue," by Isles Brody, and became obsessed with making the perfect omelette. I dug out my cast iron skillet, I learned about olive oil, I eschewed filler of any type in my omelette, I swore never to use milk, I used a whisk, and they were always a failure.
I was having back pain at the time, which is not so different from now, but it was my first bout with it and I thought it could be relieved. I spent a lot of time soaking the hot bath tub and reading. As a result my books became a little steam damaged. Especially if I went to sleep and dropped the book into the tub.
But, again I digress.
This morning it is pouring down rain.
I was going to go to work but discovered I was quite hungry at 8:04 am and since I had not heard the front door slam on my brother's house across the machinery lot I figured he would certainly not be in the position to cast the first stone should I not go to work.
So...I cooked an omelette.
I use mostly "found" art so I scrounged through the refrigerator. The cilantro was in the trash and despite my fear of radiation exposure I did not really feel like rummaging through the compost for a few good sprigs. That would be just gross.
Sort of like some years ago when the neighbor kid was working for my dad and dad decided to make baloney sandwiches and found a nice bowl of lettuce on the counter. A nice bowl of lettuce with rotten tomatoes under it that was destined for the chicken yard.
But, I digress...
I threw my French omelette snobbery to the winds and fried up some bacon, I cut the cheese, (twice) er I mean I sliced up some cheese, and I put two eggs in a bowl with a little milk and I whipped them together with a FORK. Not too much as I don't really like the yolks and whites completely mixed up.
By this time the TEFLON coated skillet was nice and hot from the bacon. I poured the bacon grease on a pan of dog food and then watched with amusement as the dog attempted to weigh his irrepressible urge to devour bacon-grease-soaked-Ole-Roy-cheap-dog-food against the sure certainty that he would burn his tongue. It was a cheap laugh I know, but simple man, simple pleasures...
I wiped out the grease with a paper towel and poured in a little olive oil. I probably could have just used the bacon grease but I had to make one concession to french cooking.
I turned the heat up a few notches and dribbled just a drop of egg on the pan. It sizzled nicely, and so I dumped the eggs into the pan. It was a thing of beauty. For the first time ever I had the heat perfect, the eggs rose as I watched. It was light and fluffy and just what I had read in the book, so long ago.
When the top was nearly solid I flipped the eggs in the pan and turned down the heat. After admiring what now could in fact be called an omelette I discarded the last of my snobbery and added ingredients. Mostly bacon and cheese. Lots of yellow Tillamook Cheese, the kind that comes in a big yellow block and bacon. The package of bacon was frozen so I just cut off the fat ends to fry.
It was good, very, very good.
I think I shall take a nap.
I am indeed the "Lazy Farmer," Mirandy is at work. I may learn to smoke a pipe... I do need a woodstove, propping your feet on the heater vent is just not the same.