FIC: O' Sailor
Title: O' Sailor
Author: vensre
Starring: Jamie/Geoffrey
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: The way I can imagine is not the true Way.
Notes: This story may make you hungry. Or the opposite, if you don't like eggs. It has nothing whatsoever to do with the Fiona Apple song of the same title. Beta by ali_jayne.
:~
"What smells so fantastic?" Geoff wanders in, half dressed. I try to keep my mind on cooking, but have to turn and smile at him. Can't forget to flip them.
"It's only eggs and toast. Anything smells fantastic to you before breakfast." I can't forget to flip them. The timing is delicate. They'll burn.
He leans towards the range, inhaling. "Mutant eggs and toast, then." Geoff thinks it's funny that Asperger Syndrome (basically, me) is considered a mutation, and brings it up every chance he gets. I think it's some sort of X-Men thing. Well, Nightcrawler is cool. Can't forget, can't forget.
"Never had much luck with the normal kind. Yolks always break. This is sort of a protein-carbohydrate boost. My mum taught me." My eyes are trained on the edge of the bread. Geoff sidles in for a kiss; it's just a greeting smooch, so I let him. I can't take my attention away from breakfast, or it'll ruin. I wave him off with the spatula. It's hard to say whether the grumbling noise he makes on the way out to fetch the paper is his voice or his stomach.
I hope the neighbours enjoy the show. He's forgot his trousers again.
The white parts are looking pretty well solidified. I probably present the appearance of a bomb squad member attempting to defuse toast with an egg in the middle. Flipping eggs is about all the drama I can take in the morning. One, two, three, four... each piece flops by turn into place on the pan, and without so much as a drip of yolk. That's victory.
"They done yet?"
I don't bother to reply - me still hovering over them with my spatula ought to make it clear enough. It's only about a minute, though, before I can bring down plates and deposit two slices onto each. Geoff is at my elbow, and accepts his plate before I quite get it to the table.
"These are definitely weird," he says happily as we spread the yellow around atop white-infiltrated bread. "And delicious," he adds around a mouthful. The white part of the egg is rightly known as albumen, but Geoff doesn't let me call it that while he's eating. He gestures at his food with his fork. "Is there a name for them?"
"One-eyed sailors," I tell him, deadpan, and he nearly chokes laughing, then swats me with the Arts & Entertainment section. It's particularly bulky on Tuesdays.
"No wonder you like them!"
"No wonder." I'm only halfway through my first piece, and he's well into his second. Then again, he isn't bothering to dip the crust in the yolk.
I am suddenly so intensely happy that I interrupt his eating to give him a real kiss.
"I feel really good today," I say by way of explanation.
"I can tell." It's not usual for me to be up to cooking by myself, especially early in the day. It takes way too much RAM. "...I was really hungry today," he adds a bit piteously, and he's setting himself up for it now.
"Aye, and the sun came up, too. But if you want another one-eyed sailor, you'd better be making it yourself." And then we're just grinning at each other like fools.
:~:
One-Eyed Sailors
(Very exacting directions suitable even for other non-cooks.)
What you need:
Slices of bread that are porus and not too small to soak up most of the egg-white. Also, the crust shouldn't be taller than the bread itself, especially if the texture of the white gives you trouble.
One egg per slice.
Butter or whatever you prefer to use.
A nice big pan of good temperament.
A spatula or other flipping device.
A fork.
Heat the pan until the butter will turn clear and bubble slightly on it. Melt a little butter in the spot so that it'll kind of butter the bread as you lay it in. Tear a hole out of the centre of your slice of bread that is only a wee bit bigger than you suspect the yolk will be. Eat the middle bit, so you're not too hungry while cooking (the cook always eats last). Lay the bread into the pan, then break an egg into the middle. Lift up the bread a tiny bit so that the albumen can reach all the way under the bread, and spread what's not soaked in around evenly on the top with the fork. Wait until you can tell the white in the centre is not going to be runny on the other side and the yolk is cooked into place enough to turn over without going everywhere, then flip it. If you can, place it in a spot with a little more butter melted there. You can flip it as many more times as you need if it didn't finish on the other side. When the yolk looks nicely over-easy on both sides, it is ready to eat.
I'm fine with one or two slices, even when I'm hungry, but Geoff swears only three is enough for a proper meal. Take into consideration that he is very pro-breakfast. He also likes pepper on his.
Unfortunately, this is the only vaguely pirate-themed recipe I know.
:~
Author: vensre
Starring: Jamie/Geoffrey
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: The way I can imagine is not the true Way.
Notes: This story may make you hungry. Or the opposite, if you don't like eggs. It has nothing whatsoever to do with the Fiona Apple song of the same title. Beta by ali_jayne.
:~
"What smells so fantastic?" Geoff wanders in, half dressed. I try to keep my mind on cooking, but have to turn and smile at him. Can't forget to flip them.
"It's only eggs and toast. Anything smells fantastic to you before breakfast." I can't forget to flip them. The timing is delicate. They'll burn.
He leans towards the range, inhaling. "Mutant eggs and toast, then." Geoff thinks it's funny that Asperger Syndrome (basically, me) is considered a mutation, and brings it up every chance he gets. I think it's some sort of X-Men thing. Well, Nightcrawler is cool. Can't forget, can't forget.
"Never had much luck with the normal kind. Yolks always break. This is sort of a protein-carbohydrate boost. My mum taught me." My eyes are trained on the edge of the bread. Geoff sidles in for a kiss; it's just a greeting smooch, so I let him. I can't take my attention away from breakfast, or it'll ruin. I wave him off with the spatula. It's hard to say whether the grumbling noise he makes on the way out to fetch the paper is his voice or his stomach.
I hope the neighbours enjoy the show. He's forgot his trousers again.
The white parts are looking pretty well solidified. I probably present the appearance of a bomb squad member attempting to defuse toast with an egg in the middle. Flipping eggs is about all the drama I can take in the morning. One, two, three, four... each piece flops by turn into place on the pan, and without so much as a drip of yolk. That's victory.
"They done yet?"
I don't bother to reply - me still hovering over them with my spatula ought to make it clear enough. It's only about a minute, though, before I can bring down plates and deposit two slices onto each. Geoff is at my elbow, and accepts his plate before I quite get it to the table.
"These are definitely weird," he says happily as we spread the yellow around atop white-infiltrated bread. "And delicious," he adds around a mouthful. The white part of the egg is rightly known as albumen, but Geoff doesn't let me call it that while he's eating. He gestures at his food with his fork. "Is there a name for them?"
"One-eyed sailors," I tell him, deadpan, and he nearly chokes laughing, then swats me with the Arts & Entertainment section. It's particularly bulky on Tuesdays.
"No wonder you like them!"
"No wonder." I'm only halfway through my first piece, and he's well into his second. Then again, he isn't bothering to dip the crust in the yolk.
I am suddenly so intensely happy that I interrupt his eating to give him a real kiss.
"I feel really good today," I say by way of explanation.
"I can tell." It's not usual for me to be up to cooking by myself, especially early in the day. It takes way too much RAM. "...I was really hungry today," he adds a bit piteously, and he's setting himself up for it now.
"Aye, and the sun came up, too. But if you want another one-eyed sailor, you'd better be making it yourself." And then we're just grinning at each other like fools.
:~:
One-Eyed Sailors
(Very exacting directions suitable even for other non-cooks.)
What you need:
Slices of bread that are porus and not too small to soak up most of the egg-white. Also, the crust shouldn't be taller than the bread itself, especially if the texture of the white gives you trouble.
One egg per slice.
Butter or whatever you prefer to use.
A nice big pan of good temperament.
A spatula or other flipping device.
A fork.
Heat the pan until the butter will turn clear and bubble slightly on it. Melt a little butter in the spot so that it'll kind of butter the bread as you lay it in. Tear a hole out of the centre of your slice of bread that is only a wee bit bigger than you suspect the yolk will be. Eat the middle bit, so you're not too hungry while cooking (the cook always eats last). Lay the bread into the pan, then break an egg into the middle. Lift up the bread a tiny bit so that the albumen can reach all the way under the bread, and spread what's not soaked in around evenly on the top with the fork. Wait until you can tell the white in the centre is not going to be runny on the other side and the yolk is cooked into place enough to turn over without going everywhere, then flip it. If you can, place it in a spot with a little more butter melted there. You can flip it as many more times as you need if it didn't finish on the other side. When the yolk looks nicely over-easy on both sides, it is ready to eat.
I'm fine with one or two slices, even when I'm hungry, but Geoff swears only three is enough for a proper meal. Take into consideration that he is very pro-breakfast. He also likes pepper on his.
Unfortunately, this is the only vaguely pirate-themed recipe I know.
:~