Omelettes at Easter

It is Easter weekend! So speaketh The Owner earlier today as he spilled his tea down his clean shirt front whilst watching the BBC Breakfast News. Then James Martin came on to tell everyone why they should really be doing nothing further that morning than waiting for inspiration for tonight's tea from one of the offerings from the chefs on his program.

It was at about that point that The Owner sprang up from his chair (more tea down his front) and announced that as it was the Easter weekend, an omelette was what was called for, for his breakfast. I have pondered on this and apart from it requiring eggs I cannot see the connection between the omelette and it being Easter weekend.

Now I have sat and watched the two chefs many times on Saturday Breakfast doing the Omelette Challenge. Sometimes they produce something that is so barely cooked that even I would think twice, then sprinkle it with chopped chives or parsley and consider themselves to have done quite well. Other times they produce something that looks quite edible, so I was hopeful that The Owner's culinary expertise would shine through and I may even get a small sample myself. So there he was, out in the kitchen, (which I have found often most prudent to avoid at times like this) and there was much crashing and banging and whirring of food processors. None of which have I ever heard from James Martin's guest chefs, incidentally, which probably heralds the kitchen looking like a war zone when he has finished. But if the means justifies the end and I get a bit myself, whatever! Then the phone rings and he sits down and talks at great length to someone with a great deal of seriousness about someone or something. Phone call ended, he sat back with a pensive look upon his face as he considered either the subject of his call or tried desperately to remember what he was doing prior to the call. It was the thin fingers of smoke which crept in layers around the corner of the kitchen door which must have in some way reminded him, as he suddenly jumped up and ran out into the kitchen. I followed at a safe distance and time interval, so that none of the angst would find a connection to me and went to see what was occurring. The omelette, which always looks golden and moist on the telly, was giving the appearance of burnt toast as it sat on the plate with smoke drifting upwards from the bit at the centre which appeared to be glowing like an ember in the fire. After a moments thought, inspiration struck and he slathered ketchup all over the omelette and went and sat down. I guess he wasn't hungry after all as he only took one mouthful and pushed the plate away. I soon found the 'omelette' in my dish but felt a little less than hungry myself after just one small nibble. I will report later if I find out why Easter weekends mean omelettes for breakfast.