Many fantasize about cars or money, but on Sunday I dream of breakfast. Before opening the paper I compile a list: bread (bolillos or pão francês), butter, red currant jam, smoked fish, chopped liver, poached eggs, tomatoes, fresh peaches, yogurt (Polish or Dutch), farmhouse gouda. Ania brews a pot of coffee, grabs some cups and wine flutes from the cabinet, and decides that we are not doing anything today. I put down the paper because there is no news and nothing is happening anywhere in the world anyway. We eat up, but we never feel overly stuffed and we don't gain any weight (as if the thought even crossed our minds). A slight breeze outside, but otherwise all is stillness. Bill Evans plays the wind. The only twinge of sadness is the ghost of Scott La Faro and what could have been.
Suggested Wine Pairing: The day has a certain texture if you dig my meaning: a cava, perhaps the Segura Viudas NV Brut Reserva, Penedès Catalunya, 2007. (One may also have orange juice on hand, but please keep them separate.)
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