In your knee-high, tri-stripe socks, you are the feather-haired object of my broken heart. I have loved you since before I came to Santa Cruz and found you there. A sweet and salty butter pad floats on the popping silver surface of a hot frying pan. I drop six eggs, grated white cheese, fresh diced basil, chunks of avocado, and quartered baby bella mushrooms into virgin olive oil. It cooks, and I uncork Cava. I pour the lively liquid into … Continue reading Aromatics