My family picked up some salad bar last night to go with baked potatoes. They returned from the store, put the box on the counter, and went to watch basketball. Easy enough, I thought – easy dinner and in an hour, they’ll be grinning at ESPN and I’ll be upstairs with dog, coffee, Mac and bed.
But the potatoes would not bake.
They were scrubbed, poked, salted and in there for over an hour, but simply refused to bake. I was furiously stabbing the half-bakeds when out of the corner of my eye, I noticed something in the salad:
I called Josie back to the kitchen, and pointed.
We got a look at him in better light. Yes, they had unwittingly picked up a salad bar miracle – The Happy Mr. Egg.
Then the potatoes baked fluffy, Mr. Egg smiled from the counter, dinner was served, and for a moment – just a moment – college basketball didn’t exist.
Josie couldn’t bear to eat him.
But I must say, he was delicious.