Over my breakfast of oatmeal and scrapple this morning, I found my mind wandering to the 1960s and breakfasts in Eugene. We had a favorite, which many would call eccentric, that was introduced to us by our neighbors, a couple with the worst timing of anyone I've met. They were both on PhD programs in lit, she in Shakespeare and he in D. H. Lawrence. They were older, returning to school because with only M.A.'s they couldn't get tenure anywhere. They'd taught at the Univs of Montana, Oregon State. Prior to that they lived for a couple years in Paris on an inheritance. Learned, cultured, European -- afternoon brandy at their house became a common ritual. And the breakfast they turned us on to was lamb kidneys.
I haven't seen lamb kidneys in the market for years. Decades. They used to be common. The breakfast was a broiled lamb kidney on an English muffin, topped with a poached egg. We loved it. But whatever happened to lamb kidneys in the supermarket?
Our friends got their PhDs just in time for the great market glut. They couldn't find teaching jobs! They ended up in Seattle. She returned to school yet again and ended up a high school teacher. He became a tech writer for a bank. Two more literary scholars bite the dust.
Haven't heard from them in years and years. I hope they are doing well. Pleasant memories of afternoon brandy and morning lamb kidney for breakfast, both instigated by these good neighbors.
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