Level Four Lockdown: Day 6
Self-Isolation: Day Three
Curfew. 8 p.m.
Mood: Level, but I feel the need for fish and chips and gin.
We meet most Saturdays for a coffee over Zoom. We have meditation every second Saturday. It's one of those little rituals we do to try keep ourselves sane.
If things were back to normal, we'd be meeting every second Saturday at D'lish Cafe on Bambra Road, Caulfield and we'd wait as Izzy made our coffees, say hello to Morrie, who's the owner, and we'd wait for our breakfasts. Hillary likes her frittata and salad for breakfast. Gloria often goes for some kind of egg dish. I have to standard orders. One is poached eggs on gluten free toast with a side of smoked salmon and tomato sauce (and please judge away - poached eggs need tomato sauce - and lots of cracked pepper.) My other D'lish breakfast of choice is their French Toast, which is made out of challah, and served with strawberries and lashings of maple syrup and is possibly the most perfect breakfast/brunch in the world. After particularly hairy meditations, French Toast is the way to go. I could have used some this morning after meditation. It's the perfect comfort food.
Instead of the required French Toast, I made myself a coffee and toast (as I'm still not allowed past the letterbox to forage for sustenance). The coffee was fine. It wasn't an almond decaf latte made by Cash and Bidi, but it did the job. The toast was also okay, but quelle horreur, I'd run out of raspberry jam.
See, my favourite breakfast toast topping is crunchy peanut paste and raspberry jam (or peanut butter as you might call it, but I'm from South Australia and it's peanut paste to us). The Yanks call it peanut butter and jelly. My friends think it's gross, but I love it.
And other than butter and vegemite, all I have to go on my toast is peanut paste.
If I knew that I was going to be in enforced lockdown I might have got in some other wonderful toast toppers. Roses Lime Marmalade. Horseradish sauce. Smoked Salmon. Vintage cheddar with a dash of Worcestershire sauce - grilled of course.
None of these were to hand this morning.
So despondently, I went to my zoom coffee meeting with a cup of coffee and two slices of toast with peanut paste.
Feeling a bit robbed.
I've had somebody else cook my breakfast once in the last five months. Normally, when we're not in lockdown settings, I'd meet somebody for breakfast once or twice a week. I miss it. May this come back soon.
But in the meantime, I'll continue to meet up with friends over zoom, with a home made coffee and toast.
With any luck, Jay will leave a small pot of raspberry jam in my letterbox tomorrow.
Or even better, my results will come in and I'll be able to circulate in public (socially distanced and with a mask).
Here's hoping.
Today's song:
Self-Isolation: Day Three
Curfew. 8 p.m.
Mood: Level, but I feel the need for fish and chips and gin.
We meet most Saturdays for a coffee over Zoom. We have meditation every second Saturday. It's one of those little rituals we do to try keep ourselves sane.
If things were back to normal, we'd be meeting every second Saturday at D'lish Cafe on Bambra Road, Caulfield and we'd wait as Izzy made our coffees, say hello to Morrie, who's the owner, and we'd wait for our breakfasts. Hillary likes her frittata and salad for breakfast. Gloria often goes for some kind of egg dish. I have to standard orders. One is poached eggs on gluten free toast with a side of smoked salmon and tomato sauce (and please judge away - poached eggs need tomato sauce - and lots of cracked pepper.) My other D'lish breakfast of choice is their French Toast, which is made out of challah, and served with strawberries and lashings of maple syrup and is possibly the most perfect breakfast/brunch in the world. After particularly hairy meditations, French Toast is the way to go. I could have used some this morning after meditation. It's the perfect comfort food.
Instead of the required French Toast, I made myself a coffee and toast (as I'm still not allowed past the letterbox to forage for sustenance). The coffee was fine. It wasn't an almond decaf latte made by Cash and Bidi, but it did the job. The toast was also okay, but quelle horreur, I'd run out of raspberry jam.
See, my favourite breakfast toast topping is crunchy peanut paste and raspberry jam (or peanut butter as you might call it, but I'm from South Australia and it's peanut paste to us). The Yanks call it peanut butter and jelly. My friends think it's gross, but I love it.
And other than butter and vegemite, all I have to go on my toast is peanut paste.
If I knew that I was going to be in enforced lockdown I might have got in some other wonderful toast toppers. Roses Lime Marmalade. Horseradish sauce. Smoked Salmon. Vintage cheddar with a dash of Worcestershire sauce - grilled of course.
None of these were to hand this morning.
So despondently, I went to my zoom coffee meeting with a cup of coffee and two slices of toast with peanut paste.
Feeling a bit robbed.
I've had somebody else cook my breakfast once in the last five months. Normally, when we're not in lockdown settings, I'd meet somebody for breakfast once or twice a week. I miss it. May this come back soon.
But in the meantime, I'll continue to meet up with friends over zoom, with a home made coffee and toast.
With any luck, Jay will leave a small pot of raspberry jam in my letterbox tomorrow.
Or even better, my results will come in and I'll be able to circulate in public (socially distanced and with a mask).
Here's hoping.
Today's song:
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