This morning I had a craving for the magical pancakes served at Mom’s. This restraraunt has been a breakfast favorite of mine since my college days working for La Valise Luggage in the then-scummy and now heinously upscale University Village.

Andreas ordered two sides of veggie sausage, and I got the #2 Breakfast Combo, with two blueberry pancakes, two sunnyside up eggs, and two veggies sausages. The food was divine as always, which is saying something because I am a pancake snob.

I had carefully rationed my food in exact proportions, so that at the end of the meal I had an unsullied egg yolk, one bite of pancake, and one bite of sausage.

“I bet I can eat this whole egg chunk in one bite!” I bragged to Dre, as I scooped the whole thing onto my fork, expanded my mouth into the wide gaping maw that it is, and dished it in.

“Wow,” he said, trying to look interested. (Such patience the man exhibits. Deserves a medal or something.)

I smiled and bit down, puncturning the membrane of the yolk with my molars and enjoying the whole eggy experience.

Naturally, our waitress chose this moment to come ask us how everything was.

“Oh, it was great,” Dre said, as the waitress turned to check with me. I smiled at her and since I was totally unable to speak I gave her the thumbs up. Yellowed yolk oozed out of both corners of my mouth and threatened to dribble down my cheeks, and Andreas started laughing.