Miga so Hungry

Breakfast is mui importante. With a great deal on my mind today, it's good to have foods that I can fall back on. This weekend is a huge barrage of events including a big art delivery to a gallery in Des Moines, IA, tonight is the big Kansas City First Friday art walk for which I have to hang out all night and talk to people, and on Sunday the Pigman Triathlon is happening, for which I can only hope I'm prepared. I've trained, so I know I'll finish, though my time might not be the greatest. With all of that, it's better for me to just eat what I have, something easy, and today that meal was migas. Migas are many things traditionally, usually leftover bread or tortilla cooked together with egg, pork, or whatever else is lying around. I choose to make a taco version, still keeping with the ingredients, but a bit easier to eat. Mine included eggs, chile, and whatever I had leftover which was a sad looking green onion, some zucchini, and a lump of turkey. Corn tortillas last amazing long in the fridge, so those I try to always have on hand for just such occasions as this.

It's easy really. Chop everything up. Fry up your ingredients starting with peppers, then zucchini, and then the turkey mostly to warm up. When those are looking tasty, crack in a couple eggs and add the green onion. Season with salt and pepper, and cook until done. These days I've begun to cut out the egg yolks. One yolk for two eggs. I read this thing about the naked cowboy guitar guy in New York and he only eats egg whites. He stands around flexing and playing music all day in his underwear and apparently he doesn't eat yolks. FYI I've also cut out half and half for my coffee in favor of 2% milk. If you make gradual shifts you don't even know the difference. Sorry for the healthy talk, but I'm training for a race! Maybe I wouldn't mind a side job playing guitar naked.

Anyway, throw the mixture on some heated tortillas with a bit of cheese. I toast my corn tortillas over the gas flame of my stove which gives nice little char marks, and firms up the little guys so they don't break on me when I'm eating. No fat is required either, so I don't have to dirty up another pan or eat extra butter or oil. Splash with some hot sauce, keep the bottle close because you'll probably want more as you go, and enjoy! It's a filling meal, but when you have too much to do and never enough time to eat, it's worth starting the day with a belly full of damn good tacos.

Nomenclature

A domestic male might be someone who has cleaned his car...once. Yes, one time in the past four or five years. I'm an artist, and I travel a lot, and I don't have a lot of time to vacuum upholstery. That's my story. When I finally cleaned it, I kicked its ass!

He might do dishes or fold an errant blanket. For sure he'll cook up a storm for the most random of occasions, especially for a movie party where people will eat their fill of chipotle salsa and piles of various meats. With all of this domesticity comes a way of life, and with that a language to describe it.

Cooking is an amazing skill to have, and it doesn't make a man less masculine. On the contrary, it's becoming more and more common for men to cook. Now I'm not saying that a man who cooks has to be using insane spices, beer and pork in every other recipe as stated on Aldenteblog. I could care less about testosterone-related ingredient choices. But I'm saying that a man can be sensitive, whip up a mean Quinoa, and relax at night reading a scholarly article on the contemporary nature of printed multiples. (Sorry for the print nerd reference.) I'm not worried to say that a squirrel I saw was cute, but when it popped into my head my first thought was, "Aw, what a badass little guy!" That's where I'm coming from. Now I'm going to go make a spicy egg sandwich!

The Domestic Male eats leftovers

The life of the Domestic Male is hard. Considering that I live in my parents attic and I'm 29 years old, you would think my daily routine consisted of bong rips and world of warcraft, but in reality it's a lot of hard work. I sit here and craft business documents, update websites, network with administration officials, and workout (or sulk because I skipped my workout!). Going into the details that brought me to this predicament is T.M.I., but it's enough to know that because of my situation, I have created this blog.

I find that my parents are collectors. Collectors of antiques, exotic species of rice, and $7 jars of honey. They have enough stemware to serve a party of 80, and they hardly drink! Still, it's the food accumulation that I find fascinating. My father gets compelled by fits of solidarity for small town grocers and comes home with the strangest things. My mother is an herb growing machine, the benefits of which are my huge increased consumption of pesto in the past two years. YUM! She has to throw it out, and I daydream of fried sage leaves. A perfect mix for me to live here, because the house comes equipped with everything an inspired cook needs, with just enough to push me to be creative since everything is so random. It was with this mood that I created a great breakfast today. Simple, sort of healthy, and so satisfying.

The basic parts: amazing locally roasted Brazilian and Costa Rican coffee from Roasters in Hiawatha, some broiled butter toast, and a homemade marinara with a couple poached eggs thrown in.

My next post will detail my thought on the sauce, but this was a breakfast of champions. And I'll throw in my advocacy for un-toaster toast here for free. We used to have this practice at the house for toasting bagels under the broiler with margarine. It leaves the bagel soft and chewy, and crisps up the top to a golden brown. (Unless you walk away during that crucial minute when the bagel is perfect, and you end up with a black charred thing that you might have to eat anyway because you're in a hurry to go wrestle somebody.) Anyway, it's the best toast, and it's how I did it today, with good bread, and I watched it like a hawk. So eat more poached eggs, be kind to your toast, and be a snob about your brew. Texas Toast has it's place, but not this morning.