Real Soup

On the storm's reflection relocate in serving joy

Sometimes it is lovely to not be adding to one's life log of adventures.

On a dark, moonless night when the wind suddenly spikes up and blows great washy clouds of blue snow down the roof, lit by a stray lamp burning somewhere - blue definitely - a lucky, safe, enclosed feeling settles on the observer who is pleasantly not struggling over the mountain pass in a marginal Volkswagen with holes in the floor and bald tires.

Who is also not arriving somewhere, claw-fingered, steamed, exhausted, late, frenzied, fried, chilled, perspiring, and just barely.

Who is likewise not indulging the impulse of tying oneself to the top of the tallest available tree as an offering to merge with the storm, as is the penchant of one of our favorite old friends.

Who is, instead, relishing the rackety wind from a warm bed, an electrically toasty cocoon, preferably, with the pines hissing and tossing about in dramatic, rampaging style by the loud, burly wind.

From this vantage point, free from white-knuckle navigational intrigues and artistic caprice, one can snuggle down and allow the soul to welcome and partake of the storm as connoisseur.

The soft edges of the gusts just before they slam the north corners of the house are discernible, their curling shapes, the hollow place inside where they carry enormous batches of white feathers to send upward into pools of light before vanishing.

Snug, happily small, dwarfed by the storm's dragons, breathing in the northwind's delicious, excited air, decisions are suddenly clear, plans are made, poetry, insights, and light embraces are fostered against the backdrop of this magnificent din.

Perfect rest is not one of the primary outcomes of the classic blustery night, particularly if there are house guests afoot experimenting with an espresso machine, then a clean notebook to launch and a new reading lamp to bask under.

Dread of morning, in this circumstance, does sabotage the mood.

If you anticipate, in this upcoming season of tempest and reunions, either revelry or meditation into the long night, prepare ahead, a simple, elegant break of day with Rumbled Eggs.

A high-flavor centerpiece, tender, protein filled, this old-fashioned recipe feeds a crowd and is ready to start in a cold oven as soon as someone gathers the wherewithal to put it in.

At night, butter a 9 x 13 baking dish. Arrange in a single layer in this pan:

6 or so slices of buttered bread, crusts removed

salt, pepper

Sprinkle over the top:

1 1/2 C. grated cheese

Use sharp Cheddar, Jalapeno Jack, Monterey Jack, Gouda, or any good, melting cheese. Combine:

2 C milk

12 eggs, slightly beaten

Chop or sliver:

1-2 C. ham

Place the ham on the cheese in the baking dish. Pour the egg mixture over the top. Season with herbs of your choice.

Cover and refrigerate overnight.

In the morning, put it into the oven and start it heating to 350 degrees. Bake for 45 minutes to an hour, or until the custard is puffy and golden brown.

Vary this recipe with sausage or bacon.

With this strategy and this lovely old recipe, you will be treated to that delightful, victorious feeling, as you look out upon fresh snow and beloved faces, that you can have the night on these occasions, and you can have the morning, too.