I’m not one to remember my dreams when I wake up. My husband, on the other hand—well, he’s a Really Fun Guy in the mornings because he’s so full of stories about saving the world from blue rabbits while armed with only rubber bands and shaving cream…. At least I can dream vicariously, listening to his patchwork adventure tales.
Last Sunday, though, I woke from a sound sleep with memories of a fantasy world of my very own. The vision was so vivid, so credible.… Perhaps, I thought, my lingering reverie was really a message from God.
I dreamed about…. POTATOES!
In my dream I—master chef that I am—sliced those potatoes, still in their jackets, so thin that the sunlight filtered through and ricocheted off the plate. I artfully arranged the raw potato wheels around the sides of a muffin tin, sprayed them with butter and dusted them with glistening sea salt, and popped them into the oven. When the little inspirations were perfectly crisp and browned, I filled my spud shells with eggs and returned them to the oven.
Voila! Instant fame and fortune! Then I woke up.So maybe God wanted me to win the Better Homes and Gardens cooking contest with these tempting treats. I could spend my prize money to buy fluffy new pillows for a homeless shelter! I could donate new books to the library! I could fund a family vacation and we’d renew our love for one another, basking in the sheer joy of being together every minute!
Eyes still fighting sleep, I stumbled into the kitchen and set out to create my wonderful new recipe. Potatoes – check! Butter – check! Eggs – check! The potato cups were too deep, so I lined them with…. Chili! (Check!)
Here they are, folks:
If this were truly God’s idea for a Breakfast of Champions, don’t you think my husband would have praised my culinary prowess, instead of eating in uncommitted silence?
My advice: Don’t try this at home.