The beet is the most intense of vegetables. The radish, admittedly, is more feverish, but the fire of the radish is a cold fire, the fire of discontent, not of passion. Tomatoes are lusty enough, yet there runs through tomatoes an undercurrent of frivolity. Beets are deadly serious. (Tom Robbins, Jitterbug Perfume)
I am even a little bit sad right now because the ones I just bought are all gone.
Anyway, I digress. A quick roast of the beets gave me gorgeously fragrant juices, so I forwent the red-wine vinaigrette. I had some proscuitto ends that I fried up with some olive oil and red wine vinegar and a little sugar to round out the roasted beet nectar.
And then, I went to poaching my egg. I have never poached an egg before, so I started reading up and while I'm not known for following directions, this time, I swear I did as asked. But my sad little whites ran away from their golden counterpart and my egg wasn't the perfectly round parcel I was hoping for. Still, it sat just fine atop the greens and the beets and when I gently nudged it open, I had bite after bite of golden salty-sweet and I licked the plate clean.
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