Although I never considered myself a fan of routine, a pattern for writing the newsletter seems to be revealing itself.  I have 12 minutes until Room #1's sheets are out of the washing machine and on to the line. Therefore, I have 12 minutes to write a newsletter.

Also, keep reading to get a recipe from my kitchen at The Inn at Sweet Water Farm.

I emptied Pig just after Labor Day. It surprised me how full he was. He is a piggy bank but to me he is so much more...

Nobody wants a toasted Innkeeper, gritting her teeth, spitting out sardonic greetings, rolling her eyes and huffing and puffing her way through the day. These are all clear signs to step away from the Inn.

When we started to get busy - looking at you, Doug, when you redid our website - I knew that there would be days that would fall under the heading "Days from Hell." They usually come when I am bone-tired and not prepared for whatever curve ball is coming my way, or a special visiting someone will treat me to an intimate peek into their own "Private Idaho."

It is then, I decided, that I will feed the Pig ... with the cost of their room.See? I can turn the moments that potentially pave the way to Innkeeper Hell into opportunities to save for some wonderful indulgence just for me.

Okay, to all of your credits, Pig isn't really very full when you work out the percentage of incoming cash to what's in his belly. But there is enough for a plane ticket to San Francisco in November or for that hotel room on the beach in Spring Lake, NJ last week.Enter the Pig. My friend Harry gave him to me and he is GORGEOUS (I'm talking about the Pig ... although, Harry's cute too), iconic even.

Pig is never completely empty.

 

By the age of three I knew it is bad mojo to have an empty piggy bank hanging around. Even in the leanest of lean years he had one piece of paper money, a few coins and a charm in the shape of a heart that my friend Emily gave me way back when I first bought the Inn (because, you know ... money "Can't Buy Me Love").

  

   

 

 

The fact is most requests I hear are valid. I honestly enjoy creating the experience you want and usually I can anticipate what you want and need from your sweet little faces and body stances before you verbalize it.

 

But every once in a great while ... man ... it ain't pretty.

 

When it happens I hear in my head the warning from the Massachusetts Train Authority, "Train approaching. Please stand behind yellow line".

 

That would be the crazy-train approaching and behind the yellow line I stand! Safe in my hospitality fortress with the knowledge that this too shall pass ... I feed the Pig. Bye now!

 

Thank you my persnickety guesties ... so few and far between. I can love you too! And may you stay few in number. The first cocktail on the balcony of the Fairmont SF ... To you!

 

Laundry done, it's time to hang out those sheets.

No thinking about breakfast before a cup of tea (another story, another time ... but yes it's true ... me. Tea!)

Unless ... I am hit with inspiration the night before and then I can hardly sleep in anticipation ...what a food geek. Shhheeesh!

Usually, I wake up, make my tea, bake off or make the scones and a tart or crumble and while they are in the oven I sit by the front door for 10 minutes and drink my tea...

I have some standby greatest hits specials in my back pocket at this point so I don't feel pressured to come up with something new every day. But often, while I sip and watch Egremont come to life, it hits me...

The idea will come from the basket of vegetables or the bowl of fruit on the counter. What needs to be eaten or cooked today? (There's a fine line between perfection and ready for the compost pile with the jam pot occasionally in between.)

Here's what happened this morning...

Piperade with Manouri and a Poached Egg  

There was one green pepper smelling awfully good that we picked up last night at a neighborhood farm stand. I had a little tiny ramekin of caramelized onions left over from Sunday's Caramelized Onion, Olive and Goat Cheese Tart (just in case you want this recipe too).

There were also a few moderately okay plum tomatoes from volunteer plants in our backyard in the veg basket. Nothing to write home about, but those tomatoes are always the ticket in a hash of a dish...

Sounds like piperade to me.

It's 8:05 and my guest is an early riser. Time check? I'll go for it.

1. Pour some olive oil in a small pan.
2. While it heats up, slice around the outside of the pepper and julienne the thing ... into the pan it goes with a dash of salt.
3. High heat until it sizzles to get it cranking out and then lower the heat, lid on.

Check the clock ... 8:08. Cool.

4. Look in the fridge for embellishments. Ah, that  Manouri cheese. Trim the outside of the cheese. Smell it. Still good. Or ... the Parm Reggiano ... always a great choice.
5. Put them both on a plate to marvel at their beauty for additional inspiration.
6. Check the peppers and stir with a wooden spoon.

I think about how I love my wooden spoons one and all.

7. Throw in the onions, stir ... lid.

Time check? 8:12.

Looking good. The peppers are already losing their bright green stiffness. Excellent!

I write the special on the chalkboard and commit to bringing it home.

8. Serve it with some grilled bread. (Since I have a lot of white bread left from the weekend and it always grills beautifully when it's a few days old rubbed with some olive oil.

Let's see. What else?

No way I am walking out to the veggie field by the chickens to get basil ... The mosquitoes are off the hook this weekend biting everyone in the face! What, do they send memos?!

Quick walk around the "backdoor herbs." Oregano ... maybe, chives...or, sage...no ...marjoram. Marjoram it is! Mario Batali describes marjoram as oregano's sexy cousin and I agree.

9. Marjoram. Torn in at the last minute. Back to the stovetop. Quick stir.

Time check? 8:16.

Sprint!

10. Tomatoes. Top off, slice lengthwise, de-seed with a swipe down the seed cavities with my impeccably clean fingers (Good morning Julia on my shoulder!).
11. Slice them in big julienne, skin side down on the cutting board, sprinkle with a liberal dash of salt (Okay ... get off my shoulder Julia ... I love you but you're heavy).
12. Into the pan with the tomatoes and a good stir (Off, Julia. Off.)

13. Lid back on.

I hear the soft footsteps of my breakfast guest. 8:20. Put the kettle on to boil.

Walk her through the sideboard options: "Help yourself to a bowl of golden and red raspberries. Here's an apricot scone and an apple and blackberry crumble. Shall I whip a little cream?"

I knew she'd say no. "Earl gray tea like yesterday?" Yes.

 "The special today is piperade. That's green peppers, caramelized onions, and tomatoes sautéed with olive oil. I think it would be good with an egg on top. I'd poach it but you're welcome to have the egg any way you'd like and maybe a piece of grilled bread on the side."

Sold, but no bread.

Back in the kitchen...

14. Lid off the piperade to let the accumulated juices evaporate a bit.

The kettle is whistling. Make the tea.

Oooops ... forgot to tell Mary about the cheese part. Take out the tea and the plate of cheese and ask if she'd like a smidge of Parm or Manouri with her piperade. Yes she would, and the choice is mine. Salty sweet Manouri it is.

A win for Greece this morning in the timeless battle of Rome vs. Greece.

15. Poach the egg.
16. Chop the marjoram while I wait (I changed my mind about the tearing ... I want a more subtle seasoning than torn).
17. Grill the bread.
18. Plate it up. 

19. And serve.

As I write this, I remember the garlic chive blossoms that caught my eye by the back door. Damn. They would have been perfect on top. Next time...