Simple Egg Porridge
Perhaps, one might say, that it is in a state of severe sleep deprivation and bodily discomfort, that one’s taste palate subconsciously craves and returns to its familiar terrain.
A place where one seeks the comfort of home and the memories which inevitably fall in step with each mouthful of the food we most associate with where we come from.
I spent my entire first Saturday back in Buenos Aires sleeping 18 hours straight – proof of the power of the tremendous fatigue and sore throat that I’d foolishly convinced myself I had already overcome.
The only interruption during these hours of drifting in and out of sleep was the time I spent in the kitchen – cooking and eating my version of comfort food, porridge.
In my state of groggy hunger, I dug around the fridge to find that the only things I could use to accompany my…
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