divine angst

I had a morning off of choir, so Mr. Angst and I slept in. We went to his church, which has been recently renovated and has a better choir than my church. I was awash in sensory bliss between the hand-painted detailing and the Gregorian chant.

To make the morning even better, we came home and made brunch. I have this thing where I don’t really order food at restaurants that I can make myself. What’s the point, after all? I can’t always hold to this, but I try. One thing we always love to have at brunch is Eggs Benedict, but to get it at a restaurant on Sunday, you have to deal with hour-and-a-half waits. So I learned to make it myself (and rarely order it out anymore, unless it’s got something special, like crab cakes, which I haven’t mastered).

So Eggs Benedict was on our menu this morning. But because it’s Oscar Sunday, we thought we’d do it up even fancier. I made strawberry butter and we warmed some croissants; our eggs were on puff pastry with breakfast sausage instead of English muffins and Canadian bacon. And we topped it all off with homemade cappuccino and mimosas.

I am, again, awash in sensory bliss. It is sunny out, and just the right temperature, and we are listening to Nat King Cole and sipping our drinks and reading.

I love Sundays.