Omelet

Eastside Road, January 21, 2011—

A VERY LIGHT SUPPER tonight, since L. had her "principal meal" at midday, out with the girls. I had twice the normal allotment of mixed nuts — two handfuls — with the Friday Martini, and then went on to a two-egg omelet. I cook them in olive oil, not butter, ever since seeing that marvelous closing scene in The Big Night.

(Notice that it's just three eggs and a little olive oil, for two (admittedly skinny) Italian guys and, a little later, a third. Oh: and bread, of course. And notice that the bread is eaten a little at a time, the right hand tearing off bits from the piece the left hand is holding. And notice the dialogue: Hai fame? — "Are you hungry?" — and then, minutes later, Grazie. Other than that, and the sound of whisking and flipping and serving, silence. What a great movie ending.)

So, anyway, a two-egg omelet for me, two eggs, oil, a pinch of salt, bread. A green salad. And a forkful of Robiola "Tre Latti" that I read about the other day, and thought I'd try, and I'm glad I did.

Maybe later another piece of that devil's food cake.