I Cook For Men, Not for Me

Here’s the thing.  I don’t cook for myself.  When you’re single and live alone, a girl will find any excuse to nix cooking off the to-do list.  My excuse is I’m lazy, I love yogurt and granola and cereal and fruit with a passion (Yes, this is how I eat.  It’s embarrassing), and I’d rather be doing other things besides cleaning the fucking kitchen (I will say here that I LOVE cleaning things–I find it therapeutic–but dishes annoy me to no end.  And how does the kitchen get so messy even when you don’t go in there?!  I’ll never understand)


Men bring something out in a woman.  We southern women turn into this Nurture Goddess at the first sign of any masculine attention.  It’s a phenomenon, really.  Or it’s just pheromones/hormones/general lack of sexual activity playing mind/body control.  That’s probably it.  Anyhow, this past weekend I was lucky enough to have a visitor spend a few days with me during my birthday.  The type of visitor that you want to feed well and impress with your Betty Crocker skillz and Good Housekeeping technique.  A male visitor–insert “hubba hubba’s” and cheesy hearts and eggplant emojis*  So I met this guy online.  What better way to spend the first weekend of my 30’s than with a man I’ve never met in my mediocre apartment with two cats, multiple Spotify playlists, and….. other things?!?!?!?!?  I don’t know if there is a better way, honestly.  YOLO.  Listen, ANY man who is willing to travel thousands of miles to spend time with you is deserving of a nice fucking breakfast. “Don’t screw this meal up, Bailey.  You know how your eggs usually turn out.  You’ve GOT this.”  :-/ So anyway, preceding his arrival I made an elaborate (for me) breakfast menu for myself and this special guest. 





Delicious foodstuff is constantly being demoed at my job.  As a girl who floats around not cooking for herself ever and snagging freebie food here and there from the expired bin or from the samples of Whole Foods, I know how to make the “demo table” rounds during a shift.  Fairly recently, the demo of the day was Brioche French Toast.  I mean, come on.  It was so fucking good.  The buttery brioche bread soaks up the egg mixture so nicely, and once fried in the pan the product melts in your mouth like a piece of cream cheese.  I couldn’t think of a more appropriate dish to serve Nice Travel Man Who Visits Me and Kindly Shares My Bed.  And it was a hit.  Big hit.  For the both of us.  Here’s how I did it. 

4 thick slices of brioche bread

2 Tbsp butter

5 large eggs

1 cup milk (I used 1%, but most recipes call for whole or half and half)

1 tsp cinnamon

1 tsp honey

1/2 tsp vanilla

Heat skillet to medium heat.  Whisk together eggs, milk, cinnamon, honey, and vanilla.  Coat skillet evenly with butter.  Place brioche slices in egg mixture on both sides for a few seconds–until covered but not soaked.  Fry slices until crispy brown on both sides.  Top with maple syrup (and fresh fruit, powdered sugar, or anything else your heart desires) and ENJOY.  And you will enjoy.  If you don’t, you ain’t human. 


Next there is the Egg, Sausage, and Cheese scramble.  Here, I totally used a recipe.  I can’t cook eggs for shit.  I mean, I cook them, but my omelets are always too runny in the middle and my scrambled eggs are always too crunchy.  So I consulted my good friend, Rachel Ray, for her recipe.  I’ll link it below.  I think another reason this one turned out so great is because of the quality of food I used.  You can’t go wrong with Free Range eggs, Cracker Barrel Extra Sharp Cheese, and Pork Sausage.  I must say, this dish put up a good fight for First Place.  And I always think it’s nice to have a savory option on the plate when you have a sugary one as well.  Otherwise it’s sugar overload.


I skipped the tomatoes and hot sauce in this recipe, but I’m sure it’s amazing with as well.


In conclusion, I’ll say that I’m a natural born breakfast cooking machine.  It’s my new thing now.  Like for real.  And also, meeting men online isn’t always a scary fucking mess. 



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