Bloodies and Breakfast

I'm not going to lie. I make a mean egg scramble. Come on over anytime and I'll show you. This one at home had a little bit of onions, ham (cooked cooked cooked, ALWAYS cooked), several eggs and some shredded swiss cheese. Eggs can be a little challenging at home because I love 'em running off the plate and Mom and Dad like them bone dry and stagnant, but we figure out a system that works moderately well. It just means we eat breakfast on different intervals. It can be a little lonely at the dining room table, but at least we all eat.

Dad was in the family room, picking out his favorite Frank Sinatra or Luciano Pavarotti CD, while Mom and I were conniving on what should be our morning cocktail.

"Let's do Bloody Marys," I said. I realize there aren't too many options here, but we could have gone with a standard mimosa.

Mom was emptying out the dishwasher and she stood up like a drill sergeant and exploded, "Yes! I was just thinking I'll see if Mon wants a Bloody Mary."

"Great minds!"

Pavarotti was belting something from the living room and in walks Dad, proud as a parrot, carrying a cookbook and sporting his big green William Sonoma chef's apron and a smile.

"How about I make us a few Bloody Marys?"

My mom and I couldn't contain ourselves. We busted out laughing. Poor Dad had no idea what the ridiculous reaction was all about. Dad is the serious, more put together one of the three of us. Whenever Mom and I suggest a morning treat, which is often when we're together, Dad frowns upon it with a good ol' smirk and a head shake and a, "You girls..." Of course, three minutes later, once he sees the fun we're having, he jumps right in the mix.

This particular Sunday was different. Dad was actually pitching to have morning cocktails. I should have checked his forehead to see if he was feeling OK, but instead I just played along. We loved it and fell over ourselves laughing that not two minutes before we had suggested that very delicious thing.

I picked the Saratoga-style Bloody. I'm not sure how it's different from a regular Bloody, perhaps because of the Worcestershire sauce, but any Bloody I've ever handmade always had the big W in it. Dad gathered the ingredients and I kept a lazy eye on the scramble. I apologize, you may not be able to see the recipe without your magnifying glass.

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Voila!


I've never even heard of celery salt. Celery doesn't taste like anything, how does it have a salt? Regardless, these Bloodies hit the spot. Even Dad, the non-Bloody drinker, downed his. I know this weekend is Father's Day, but I hope Big Daddy's Bar is still open for business.