Tuesday, 19 May 2009
The Most Important Meal of the Day
The dormice, from the jars in the back bedroom, were done to perfection, their little bacon blankets crisping up nicely. The eggs were resting so that the hot fowl broth could seep back into the bodies of the baby birds and soften up their filigree bones. The bright paint on the eggshells looked so cheery in the dirty light, the red and the gold and the deep beetle green, and the fact that they were served in shot glasses rather than proper eggcups only added to their charm. The toast was translucent and in each perfect triangle a woman’s face was branded in a cameo of darker brown crumbs. In the plain white porcelain teapot that was only slightly chipped but quite badly stained there was enough fortified wine to wash the feast down, and in the matching sugar bowl there was another kind of white powder for pudding. It was the perfect breakfast and there was a place laid for the monkey too, even though the monkey only eats hair.