So we have this discussion about egg patterns and some different ways people rig the things. Somehow this conversation quickly moved into a doctoral dissertation on why eggs benedict is the best breakfast “ever created”.
Hollandaise sauce is amazing. I mean, I might as well be injecting peanut butter straight into my jugular but you know, it’s just so good.
So I’m thinking at this point that we are going to have a nice little eggs benedict camp breakfast the next morning. I play dumb, not wanting to clue him in that I figured out his little contribution to the weekend. He keeps strict watch over the cooler throughout the day, further heightening my suspicions. We continue on through the day, fishing some great streams and lakes.
We sit down for dinner and enjoy an above average dish of chili cheese dogs. They were good, but left me feeling unfulfilled, the anticipation of eggs benedict the next day consumed my thoughts. To make matters worse we’re sharing what is essentially a one person tent which causes the humidity to approach 117% and turn our shelter into a sweaty torture chamber.
I awake to a beautiful morning, the neck is a little stiff, and my skin is stuck to the sleeping bag but nothing some eggs benedict can’t help. I go outside, brush my teeth, and turn to ask what was for breakfast…
We had fucking hot pockets.