Breakfast Tacos.

It’s really too soon to be sentimental about Austin. I’m very absorbed in loving my new life here. But there are things I miss. Like my friends. And breakfast tacos. You can get decent tacos here, but they’re not ubiquitous like they are in Austin. And I haven’t come across breakfast tacos at all.

I’m not working today, but I got up at 6 with C. We went to bed early last night, and I slept well because I hadn’t slept well the previous two nights. The feeling of being close to him is more compelling than sleep -- I find myself sometimes not wanting to drift off.

I spent the morning reading. I finished Myra Breckinridge.

My roommate M. got up at about 10 and made more coffee. By then I was hungry, so I went downstairs planning to warm up a couple tortillas with some cheese for a late breakfast. The onions in a bowl by the stove caught my eye, so I cut one up, thinking I’d make a quesadilla with fried onion and hot sauce. But, since I had the pan out, it seemed silly not to scramble a couple eggs, too. Then I saw one red potato sitting there and suddenly I was slicing it thin and throwing it in the pan with the onion and some butter.

I put the rest of the onion in a plastic bag and was putting it in the fridge when I saw the bacon and the whole game changed. I had bought it for the bean soup I made a couple weeks ago, and there were a few strips left which I had sort of forgotten about. I threw them in the pan. (Normally, I would start with the bacon and drain off most of the fat before I cooked the potato and egg, but, since I didn’t find the bacon till I had the other stuff cooking, I fried bacon in butter. I fried bacon in butter. Which is illegal in San Francisco.)

When everything was brown and crispy on the edges, I turned down the heat and threw in the eggs. I warmed the tortillas, put a couple slices of sharp cheddar on each and then piled on the eggs/potato/bacon/onion. A little hot sauce. I would’ve posted a photo but they disappeared too fast. Nostalgia is fucking delicious.