Omelettes

Omelettes, just another way the French have devised to drive non-French people crazy. The instructions are simple. Melt butter in pan.
Put beaten eggs in pan.
Use flat of fork to keep runny stuff moving.
Use flat of fork to flip 1/3 of egg onto the remaining egg.
Tilt pan and roll omelette onto plate.
They leave out the most important step: Insert hand grenade under eggs!
I know that the French stay up nights thinking up ways to infuriate the English. They eat huge amounts of butter, cheese, cream, and sausage. They drink prodigious amounts of wine and smoke unfiltered cigarettes. They live to be 2000 years old. This omelette thing is the last straw. I guess the only way to learn it is to spend a year in Provence. A long cherished dream that will never come true. Bouillabaisse is only a dream. Sure, a stew made from the leftover fish a fisherman's wife has on hand, an inexpensive lunch. Oh and by the way, you have to use saffron threads. No ground up diamonds, they would only cheapen the dish. Perhaps six months in Languedoc for cassoulet. I could make it here but the market is fresh out of preserved goose. The Germans are always trying to invade France. They are simply looking for a good meal, besides saurbraten. Each time they come, they bring their own beer.
And so there is a dream to cherish. A year in Provence and six months in Santorini with side trips to Akrotiri. A side trip to Italy to see Bellini's Daphne, finishing with a year in Tuscany. Then Vienna for sachertorte! A joyful homecoming to Panacea, Florida for stone crab. Pack a change of underwear and a large bottle of Crestor and off we go! I would remember fondly 2008 with an emphasis on the ate.