I was talking with Mrs B on Sunday about meals for one. And how, when the Misters are away, there are times, coupled with the long hours that we do, the notion of cooking for one at 8:30 at night is frankly a drag. We've all been there - when even scrambled eggs seem a phaff. I'm trying to get much better at eating properly when Mr M (the chef) is away. Summer is easier when salad can be thrown together in seconds, but winter requires a little more thought if you don't want to end up going down the soup route each night. Snore.
When Mr M was in Dublin last week, I worked late (isn't it always the way?) - and opened the door to a seriously uninspiring fridge. A couple of eggs, some open creme fraiche, a lump of unidentifiable cheese, some salami, a jar of ancient olives and a sad leftover wrap (obsessed with Crosta & Mollica wraps at the moment). I mixed up the creme fraiche with some grated cheese, black pepper and chopped parsley and smeared it on the wrap, then sprinkled over the olives, salami and cracked an egg in the middle. Popped in the oven on Gas Mark 6 for 20 minutes or until the egg is cooked, and then eaten with the few watercress leaves that were palatable. It was delicious. Can't beat an egg on a pizza. Truly. We first discovered it when Mr M took me to Paris for my 19th birthday and we had a bolognese and egg pizza on Champs-Élysées. As you do. Sounds disgusting, but was delicious. We thought we were so cool and grown up. I believe John Lennon sunglasses may have been involved.