Take one rainy Saturday and half a dozen free range eggs.
It started with the eggs. Two dozen smooth, brown, free-range chukie eggs for Easter. Two dozen guests: an egg each equals two dozen eggs. Of course if they had been chocolate they would all be gone by now. Not sure why I thought all two dozen people would want a boiled egg for breakfast, or at any time on Easter Sunday. Or how I’d have the time to ladle the two dozen in and out of boiling water one egg at time. In the event no one was even offered and so the eggs sat on. The tool collector has been eating eggs on toast, like the trencherman he is, with almost no noticeable effect to the egg mountain.
I had been thinking of the almond cake, Tarta de Santiago and, since today is wet, decided to use the eggs and perfume the house with the scent of citrus zest.