10pm

It's 10 o'clock on a Thursday night. My kitchen smells so good right now; I wish I could make this scent into an air freshener to hang over the rear view mirror of my car.

In a pan on the stove, bacon sizzles loud and proud.
On the next burner, thinly sliced leeks melt, low and slow, into Kerrygold butter.

The bacon, cut into one inch squares, turns dark and crispy in a bath of clear, rendered fat. I drain it on a paper towel and pour most of the fat into the tin can I keep under the kitchen sink for that very purpose. A few tablespoons, though, go into a bow next to the stove and a teaspoon or so remains coating the bottom of the pan. I add a half of a leek--the firm, pale, stalk-half, which I've reserved from its melty fate and diced into tiny bits. These cook and crisp over medium heat; I'm careful not to let the bacon grease smoke (a sign that it's too hot and shifting shapes). Then comes the remainder of my red wine vinegar, about a tablespoon and a half. It protests loudly, bubbles and smokes, when it hits the hot pan. I swish it around with my coated tongs (my favorite kitchen tool, I think), scraping the bacon bits off the bottom of the pan, freeing all of the goodness. Oh, the smells. The thick, slightly acrid, buttery, bacony smells.

I squirt in a tablespoon or so of my housemate's local Dijon mustard (oops. I don't think he'll mind.) and stir vigorously. The mixture congeals, slightly. Before it begins to darken I dash it with sea salt and cracked pepper, and drizzle in a few more tablespoons of the still-warm bacon grease. Stir, stir, stir. Then I add, tong-full at a time, a whole head of frisee lettuce. It wilts, batch by batch, as I turn it against the bottom of the pan, wiping up the bacony, leeky, mustardy goodness. Not more than two minutes--it's done.

I put it in my favorite Indian pot and sprinkle it with bacon. Warm, like it is right now, I think it's my favorite salad. Cold, for breakfast, it's still tasty. I'll poach two eggs when I get out of the shower and their warm, golden yolks will seep through the soggy lettuce, coat the crispy bacon, and make my morning amazing.

This is that salad, made for a friend last week.
The bacon was burnt, the dressing to scant and I should have
poached two eggs each--but it was still delightful.
I need to work on my picture taking skills! I promise, it tasted better than it looks.

I'm drinking a "Natural Brew" ginger ale. (Oh! The sugar!! oh, the sugar.) As I dance around my kitchen at 10 o'clock on a Thursday night, it's perfect.

Now, a pound and a half of country sage bulk pork sausage is screaming from the bacon pan. It hisses and pops and sounds, well, delightful! The smell is sweet, like muffins or pancakes, not meat. It will go into an old glass cashew butter jar and I'll eat it cold or room temperature over the next few days, at work and in seminar. When the munchies say, "granola bar!" I'll say, "sausage!" and everything will be okay.

I let the leeks go too long. I became impatient and turned up the heat. Instead of melting into soft, translucent slivers they are mostly crispy and brown, like French Onions on green bean casserole, after they've sat for an hour or so and lost a little crunch. I melted goatzarella into the mix. Its salty stringyness hold the overcooked leeks in a coherent lump. I think I may put poached eggs on this, too, and eat it for lunch?

I am so lucky to be able to eat what I can, to be able to cook what I can, to be able to spend time how I do.

The frisee lettuce with warm bacon vinagrette and the leeks with mozarella cheese were both inspired by Shauna at glutenfreegirl She--her taste, her writing, her recipes and her joie de vivre--is a constant source of inspiration!